


In The Light

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Series: Brothers and Sisters [7]
Category: Emergency!
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Derogatory Language, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Male Friendship, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mike is accused of something awful and gets caught up in the dark, his friends are there to help him back into the light... but no one ever said that road was the easiest to travel. Notes/Warnings inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Believe

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, and so is Charlie. This fic follows close upon 'Leave the City of Your Comfort' and is a part of that series. This means that herein you will find the following: asexual!Mike, an ace (asexual) OC (Charlie), and a married Marco. This fic features characters that are described as sex-averse asexuals, meaning they not only do not feel sexual attraction but also have no desire to actually participate in sexual acts. I ask you to be respectful of this. I ask you to simply be respectful in general.
> 
> Warnings: This fic will contain strong language, violence, and some discriminatory slurs in later chapters that would have been commonplace during the time period in which this fic takes place. A warning will accompany any chapters that feature any of these as the slurs especially may be triggering.
> 
> As usual, I have tried my best to do some research but if there is anything blatantly wrong, please PM me and I will work to fix it ASAP.
> 
> Edit: As someone (not so) kindly pointed out elsewhere, I am unfamiliar with full police procedure. I ask to please bear with me and be respectful when mistakes are made.
> 
> Cross-posted on FanFiction

"Ding dong! Coolest chick in the world is here with donuts!"

Mike wasn't quite prepared for the clattering and cheering that rose up from the locker room at that announcement. John and Chet practically fought each other to get there first, Marco not far behind them.

"Ooh! I want the one with the sprinkles!"

"What's the pink one?"

"No! I wanted that one!"

"Hey, that one's mine! Hands off!"

"But it looks so good!"

"That's why it's mine!"

"See what you've done, Charlie?" Cap called over the hubbub, "You've reduced my nice, orderly station to chaos. I hope you're happy."

"Well, I've got donuts, so… yeah," she smirked, "I'm pretty happy."

Cap shook his head, but he was smiling as he reached into the fray to grab a donut for himself. Mike fought through to get one, too, pulling Charlie into a quick one-armed hug and asking, "How was your shift?"

"Not too bad. Got cursed out by an old lady because I couldn't send an ambulance and paramedics for her cat," Charlie told him around bites of donut.

"Her cat? What was wrong with it?"

"Apparently, Homer the Cat threw up the biggest hairball she'd ever seen and so she wanted to be sure he wasn't sick. I tried to tell her to take him to the animal hospital, but she wouldn't listen to me. Had to get my supervisor on the line to explain it to her that she could get arrested for misusing the emergency number. It was the craziest thing."

"Sounds like it."

"Well, other than Mrs. Jenkins' cat Homer, the night shift was pretty quiet. Umm… had a run for 45s with a pretty bad hit-and-run… and a coupla trash fires. Nothin' big though."

"I hate hit-and-runs," John piped up, "How hard it is it to just stop and admit your accident and maybe try to help somebody?"

"Well, when you're drunk, you probably don't even know it. When you're not… I dunno, it's probably still pretty difficult."

"You would know, DeSoto," a voice joked from the doorway.

"Lt. Crockett," Cap greeted, "What brings you here?"

"Well, if you could hook me up with some coffee and maybe part with a donut, we could discuss it in your office, Hank."

Everyone watched them disappear into the office, and Charlie asked, "Who's that? Y'all didn't really look too happy to see him."

"That's Lt. Crockett, from LAPD," John explained, "The last time he was here was when Roy and me were accused of doin' a hit-and-run in the squad. We didn't do it, of course."

"See, this old guy working as a crossing guard apparently used to be an acrobat or somethin'," Roy continued, "and he occasionally liked to con cities and counties out of a few thousand dollars by pretending to be hit by government vehicles. That time, we were the unlucky pick. It was pretty crazy."

Charlie blinked while the men around the table made noises of assent and kept eating, trying to be as quiet as possible. Mike knew they were trying to hear what was going on in the office. They wouldn't be able to, but they could certainly try.

"Wait a minute," Charlie said, almost dangerously slow, "Roy and John were accused of hittin' someone with the squad and no one thought that was important enough to tell me?"

Everyone shared a glance. _I though Chet told her._

"John, you didn't tell her?" Chet asked.

"Why's it my job? You're her brother!"

"Well, it was happening to you!"

"You see her more often!"

"Hell, with that logic, you might as well blame Mike!"

Mike almost choked on his coffee, spluttering, "H-How is it my fault?"

"You coulda told her. Charlie's your-… _thing_ , after all."

"Thing?!"

Charlie was indignant, her mouth open, looking as if she'd never been so insulted in her life.

"What? What am I supposed to call you?" Chet asked, "Are ya his girlfriend?"

"Well, not quite-"

"Are ya just his friend?"

"No, but-"

"Jesus, Charlie, if you don't know what to call you, how'm I supposed to know?"

Charlie looked ready to retort but stopped, snapping her mouth shut. After a moment, she stated, "Chet, that was actually a fairly cogent and respectful argument. I'm both pleased and surprised."

"Thank you. I am capable of those sometimes. I don't why people are so shocked when it happens."

"We just see it so rarely, is all."

Chet stuck his tongue out at her, partially negating his argument. He did have a point, though. Mike and Charlie were… something. There was no doubt about that. Just what exactly they were, however, was another matter entirely. Boyfriend and girlfriend felt too loaded, while friend didn't quite feel loaded enough, while 'more than friends' (or 'living in sin,' as his mother liked to say) implied completely the wrong thing. _It's something we should probably talk about soon._ Charlie was still living with her brother, though she and Mike had discussed living together. Mike's apartment wasn't quite big enough for two people to live in full-time, and if they were going to get an apartment together, they wanted to be sure they could at least last as long as a lease. On this particular day, she was actually going to be staying with him until her shift that evening.

Cap and Crockett finally emerged from the office, neither wearing a good expression. An uneasy weight settled in Mike's stomach. This would not be pleasant.

"What's the matter, lieutenant?" John asked, trying to break the tension, "Someone else pretend to be hit by the squad?"

"Afraid not, Gage," Crockett replied, "It's, uh, it's pretty serious this time. The victim's critical, and-… damn, it'd be easier if y'all weren't just sittin' around like this…"

The mood darkened even more, an awkward silence hanging over the room. Crockett sighed, folding his arms, and asked, "I hate this… where were you last night at about 0130, Mr. Stoker?"

Silence buzzed in Mike's ears as every eye turned on him. Blood pulsed in his ears, through his bounding heart.

"Are-are you serious?" he responded incredulously, "I was here. Sleeping. I was on my shift."

"You're sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure! I was asleep all night!"

"Can anyone confirm that?"

Mike felt his mouth drop open. This was ridiculous. Heat flooded his face, anger flaring up in his chest. Cap spoke up, "Lieutenant, I can assure you, Stoker was here all night. The man doesn't wake up for anything but tones dropping. I'm not even sure I've ever seen him wake up to use the john in the middle of the night."

John agreed, "Yeah, when me and Roy get a call for the squad, he just goes right back to sleep. He's asleep before we're even outta the dorm! It's incredible!"

"And if you're gonna ask," Charlie piped up, "he sleeps all night when he's not at the station, too."

Chet snickered, ducking his head. Crockett turned to her, raised an eyebrow, and asked, "And who are you, miss?"

"Lt. Crockett, this is my little sister, Charlie," Chet answered.

"Pleasure to meet you, Charlie. Now, how would you know you know about Stoker's sleeping habits?"

"How else?" she replied with a shrug and a smirk.

Some embarrassment crept into Mike's face as Chet gave a loud snort and said, "Y'know, I can back her up on that one, actually, lieutenant. She's tellin' the truth."

"Yeah? And how would _you_ know, Kelly?"

"How else?" he mimicked Charlie, throwing in a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

John actually had to excuse himself from the room he was laughing so hard, and Mike had to admit it was pretty funny. Crockett let them all have their laugh for a moment before interjecting, "Alright, y'all, cut it out. This is serious. We have a critical victim in Rampart, and I have a serious problem."

The laughter died out in fairly short order. Crockett continued, "Look, Stoker, for what it's worth, I believe you were here sleeping all night, but I have an eyewitness who saw a red '67 Dodge D100, which you drive, at the scene as the hit-and-run vehicle and gave your license plate as the one on the truck. There's just no doubt your truck was used in a vehicular assault. I'm sorry, but it makes sense to assume you were the one driving your own truck, doesn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but I wasn't! I was here asleep! I swear!" Mike pleaded.

The other men jumped to his defense, swearing up and down on his sleep habits, that he'd slept the whole night, that he would never leave in the middle of a shift and that he certainly wouldn't try to kill someone.

"What about the truck? Did anyone hear the truck leave?"

"No," Mike replied, "that's one of the only things that would've maybe woken me up. It would've woken everyone in the dorm up, especially Cap and Roy and Marco."

"Why them more than anyone else?"

Marco answered, "The three of us have kids. You wake up to any noise that sounds remotely out of place when you have kids. A vehicle leaving our parking lot at that hour is unheard of."

Crockett heaved a sigh. _Don't know why he looks so irritated. I'm the one being accused of runnin' someone down._ Mike knew he was scowling, but he couldn't quite find it in himself to care.

"Well, it's lookin' pretty fishy to me, and I guess it is to you guys, too," Crockett said after a long moment, "You have my word that I won't rest until this thing is sorted out, 'cause I don't believe for one second you purposely tried to run down that woman last night, Stoker."

Mike's heart dropped.

"They… they did it on purpose?"

"Yup. Witness said the truck sped up to hit her friend. She screamed for her to move, but it was too late. Victim's lucky she's not worse, 'course she's not in great shape, either."

"Do you know her name?" Mike asked, "The victim?"

_I could send over some flowers or something or ask Dix to keep an eye on her…_

"Yeah, her name is Angelica Quigley. She's a bartender at the Blue Macaw."


	2. Will's Sinkin' Low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gentle reminder to be respectful when pointing out mistakes or issues.

It felt like the air was ripped from Mike's body. He was lightheaded and dizzy and sick. _Someone used my truck to run down Angie on purpose?_ He had to swallow rising bile. Who would want to try and kill Angie? She was always one of the nicest, kindest people Mike had ever known, ever since childhood. Angie was everyone's friend.

"…hear me? Mike? Mike?"

He blinked and looked up, taking a moment to orient himself. _How did I end up on the floor?_ Roy was leaning over him, an expression of concern on his face. Mike pulled in a shaky breath, asking, "Wha-? Did I-?"

"Yeah, you pretty much passed out right there at the table," Roy explained, "Now, are you alright? Could you sit up?"

Mike swallowed and nodded. Roy went on, "Good. Here, I'll help you sit up… Alright…"

John was at Mike's other side, helping him up, but everyone else was clustered at the table. Charlie stood close to her brother, squeezing his hand, her eyes wide and a little frightened. Mike's face burned with embarrassment.

"Do you have any idea why you might've passed out, Mike?" Roy asked, using the same gentle tone of voice he did with patients.

"The-the victim… Angelica Quigley… I know her," Mike explained shakily, "Chet and-and John and Charlie met her on Charlie's birthday. I-… we've known each other since we were kids. She's a really good friend of mine. Angie's-… who would wanna do something like that to her?"

"That's what I'm gonna find out, Stoker," Crockett replied, "She's over at Rampart if you'd like to visit her. Her husband's there with her now, and she's got… Dr. Early lookin' after her."

"Good. That's good, Mike. Early's one of the best," Roy stated seriously, "She'll be alright."

Mike didn't trust himself to speak. He allowed himself to be helped back into his chair, and Charlie was right there at his side as soon as he was seated, handing him a cup of coffee. He was still shaky, though. Crockett stood around for a long moment before announcing he was leaving and would keep everyone updated on the investigation, making it clear he didn't consider Mike a suspect in the least. Everyone stood around awkwardly for a moment, shuffling their feet, picking at the shirts, looking anywhere but at Mike.

"I'm gonna go to Rampart," he said at last, breaking the silence.

Cap asked, "Are you sure that's a good idea, Mike?"

"I have to. I… I have to see what that-… that person did to her… and I have to tell Todd it wasn't me," he replied, "I mean, I don't think he thinks I did it, but I haven't known him quite as long as I've known Angie."

"He can't," Charlie told him firmly, "He can't possibly think you did it."

Mike didn't reply, only sipped his coffee. Charlie chewed her lip for a moment, then quietly said, "Look, I'm gonna go home and change into some civvies. You call me when you get back from the hospital and-"

"No, I want you to come with me to Rampart," he muttered.

His face heated up again. _Please, I need you…_

"You need some moral support?"

"Yeah… yeah, I do… please…"

"Alright, well, I still need to change, so I'll do that and wait for you there, okay?"

"Okay. I'll drop Chet off and we'll go."

Chet's van had been in the shop for a week thanks to some transmission issues, and he had the bad luck of being in the process of putting a new suspension in his Chevelle, too, leaving him without a vehicle. Mike and John had been taking turns picking him and dropping him off, and sometimes Charlie would, too. Charlie bid everyone goodbye and headed out, leaving Mike sitting at the table. The guys were keeping a fairly wide berth while still making sure he wasn't entirely alone. _They think I'm gonna pass out again. They might be right._

"Hey, Mike, you wanna step into the office for a minute?" Cap asked.

He looked up at Cap. The older man stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, his brow knit in concern. Mike rose carefully to his feet, still clutching his mug of coffee, and followed Cap into the office; the others watched from the bay. Cap closed the door behind them and went to sit behind the desk. Mike remained standing, hovering by the other chair.

"Mike, you don't have to wait for me to tell you to sit," Cap told him, "You know that, especially after what just happened in there."

"I'm sorry about that, Cap."

"Sorry for what?"

"For… for fainting… or whatever I did."

"You don't need to apologize for that. I think any of us would, under the circumstances. Now, sit."

Mike did as he was told. Cap moved from behind the desk to sit in the chair beside Mike, who ducked his head. He could feel his captain's eyes on him.

"Are you alright?" Cap asked after a moment.

Mike thought about it for a few seconds before shaking his head, not looking up. _How could I possibly be okay right now, Cap?_ He swallowed against the lump growing in his throat.

"I just want you to know we're all here for you, Mike. Anything you need, you can call any one of us. This-… what's happened here is not a normal thing by any stretch of the imagination. It would be hard enough to deal with if it were a stranger, but knowing it's a friend… well… we're behind you a hundred percent," Cap told him earnestly.

"Yeah… yeah, I know that, Cap."

"Good. Now, do you think you're gonna want some time off? Like I said, this is a lot to deal with, and you have plenty of sick leave you could use. I won't tell you not to work unless someone tells me not to let you."

"No," Mike replied, "no, if I'm not working, I'll probably go outta my head just thinkin' about stuff. If I'm workin' then I'll have somethin' else to think about… plus, I'll be with my friends."

Mike finally picked up his head, pleased to see Cap wearing a warm, genuine smile. He said, "If that's what you want," but it was said kindly, knowingly. _He gets it, I think._ Mike offered his captain a smile in return, a small one but a smile nonetheless.

"Alright, well, you and Chet get outta here ASAP when C-shift comes in. I know you're takin' him home today. Just drive safe, okay, pal?"

He knew Cap didn't mean anything by it, but the words sent a short, sharp pain through his chest. He hoped his smile didn't falter.

"I'll do my best, Cap."

xXxXx

Charlie had just finished a bowl of cereal when Chet and Mike arrived. Chet looked slightly traumatized.

"You better drive to Rampart, sis," he told her, "Stoker here almost just got us killed about three times now."

"I apologized!"

"Yeah, a lotta good that apology woulda done me after you put me in the hospital!"

Mike flinched. Chet swore, saying, "I'm sorry, Mike. I-… you know I didn't mean-"

"I know, I know, it's just-… it's hard. It still doesn't feel real."

"Come on, Mike," Charlie spoke up, trying to diffuse the tension, "let's go. I'll drive, okay?"

"Yeah, good idea. The cops are probably gonna come take my truck soon anyway as part of the investigation. I mean, there has to have been a mistake, though, right? My truck was parked there all night. It doesn't look broken into or hotwired or anything like that. Didn't even see any dents or cracks. It-it has to be a mistake."

"I agree. I'm sure when they go over your truck they won't find anything," she told him.

Their ride to Rampart was silent. Charlie didn't quite believe her own words, and she felt that Mike knew it. The whole situation was weird, just plain weird. She was certainly sure Mike didn't commit the act. There was no way Mike Stoker would ever intentionally try to hurt someone, not for any reason she could think of. Having an eyewitness give an exact description of his truck down the plates, however, could not be an accident. It would be too much of a coincidence. She pulled into the visitor parking area. Mike made no move to get out.

"It's gonna be okay, Mike," she said quietly, "I'm here for you."

"I know… I know, it's-… Crockett said Todd was here. What if he blames me, Charlie? What if he thinks I did it?"

"He won't. I know that for a fact. He knows how much you love Angie, what good friends the two of you are. He can't blame you for this."

That was something she was sure of, even if she'd never met the other man. She gave him a little nudge to urge him out of the car. _Poor Mike… my poor, poor, Mike…_ He grabbed her hand as soon as they entered the hospital, his palm sweating, his hand shaking. A nurse directed them up to ICU, where they ran into Dr. Early.

"Mike, Charlie," he greeted them, "What brings you up here?"

"I'm… uh… I'm here to see Angie Quigley," Mike replied, "Lt. Crockett told me what happened, and Angie and I are pretty good friends, and-… well, I wanted to look in on her."

"I see. Well, her husband is here now, but you're more than welcome to check in on Mrs. Quigley."

"Can you-? Is she gonna be okay, doc?" Mike asked, his voice tight.

Early gave Mike a long look before answering quietly, "She's still unconscious now, but with the surgery we had to do, being comatose for another day or two won't be out of the question. She suffered some head trauma, a dislocated shoulder, some cracked ribs, and plenty of bruises, but the internal injuries were the worst. Now that those are fixed up, she should heal fairly quickly. Honestly, the coma may help her heal by using all the body's energy to heal rather than expending it on something else."

Charlie felt Mike tighten his grip on her hand. His eyes were damp, his lips pressed together. Early's expression was soft; it looked like he probably used it on patients.

"Don't worry, Mike," he said gently, "Angie's going to be fine. She doesn't look it right now, but I assure you, she should make a full recovery."

Early excused himself and left the ICU, leaving Mike and Charlie there in the hallway, Mike staring at the door to Angie's room. Charlie gave his hand a little squeeze. He squeezed back hard. His lip was trembling now, tears hanging precariously on the edge of his lids. He shook his head, whispering, "I-I can't-… I can't go in there. Todd's gonna hate me. He hates me. I know it."

"No, he doesn't. He doesn't hate you, Mike," Charlie told him, "How could he?"

"Because he's gonna think I did it! Everyone's gon-gonna think I really did it!"

He was shaking now, and Charlie was worried he might have a panic attack or something. She looked around for a nurse's station or a doctor.

"Mike? Mike Stoker, is that you?" a man's voice asked.

Mike froze, the shaking stopping almost immediately to be replaced with tense muscles, but refused to turn and face the source of the voice. Charlie did turn. She presumed the man was Mr. Quigley, though she'd never seen him. He was a handsome man, as handsome as Angie was beautiful, with rich brown skin and eyes to match. He was shorter than Mike, maybe about Chet's height, built lean and athletic. His eyes were red and wet, his clothes rumpled.

"Oh, it is you, Mike," the man sighed, "I'm so glad you're here."

"You-? You are?"

"Of course I am. I couldn't believe when they asked if I knew you because the plates Shelley gave came back to your truck," he said, his voice rough, "I still don't believe it. You would never do something like this to Angie."

"I didn't, Todd," Mike told him in a rush, "I swear I didn't. I was working last night. Well, I was sleeping last night, but I was on shift at the station. We didn't get any runs the whole night so I was dead asleep, but I swear to you, Todd, I never left the station last night. I didn't-"

"Hey, it's okay. I know. I know you didn't. Come on, Angie's still out, but if you wanna sit with her and talk, I know she'll hear you. I've… I've been sitting with her since she got outta surgery a few hours ago."

Mike pressed his lips together again. Todd ushered him toward the door. Charlie spoke up, "We spoke with the doctor assigned to Angie's case. He's one of the best, y'know, one of the absolute best, and he said Angie's gonna be fine. Oh, I'm Charlotte Kelly, by the way. My brother works with Mike. Everyone calls me Charlie."

_Normalcy. We need normalcy right now._

"It's nice to meet you, Charlie. I just wish it were under better circumstances. As you probably guessed, I'm Todd Quigley, Angie's husband," he replied, "Here you go, Mike. You go in. Angie knows you better than anyone and vice-versa. You deserve some time with your friend. Go ahead."

Mike nodded, starting to head in and stopping when Charlie didn't follow. She told him softly, "No, I'll wait out here. You go on. I'll be right here when you're done."

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and let go, allowing him to go in alone. Todd dropped into a chair by the door, scrubbing at his face. Charlie sat beside him, trying to ignore the white noise of Mike speaking behind the door.

"We all went to school together, middle school and high school anyway," Todd said after a long moment, "I met them on my first day of seventh grade. I remember everyone always said they were gonna get married right outta school, as soon as they graduated. I never thought that. I could see what good friends they were and I knew better. Then Angie's dad died right as we starting high school freshman year, and that was real hard on her. It was real hard on both of them, actually. I was havin' a pretty rough time of it myself with people pickin' on me for bein' black and-… well, I guess we just got closer 'cause we were all havin' a rough time.

"Oh, we became the Three Musketeers. Never saw one without the others when we could help it. And it became a pretty good thing I knew Mike and Angie weren't gonna get married, 'cause I started thinkin' maybe I wanted to marry her myself."

"Well, you certainly did that."

"That I did, Charlie, and we've just been so happy and lucky. All the people in our lives have been very supportive of us bein' together, including her mother. Oh some places we go, we get some grief and hate, but it'll never be enough to make us stop loving each other."

Charlie smiled in spite of herself. _I think that's about the sweetest thing I've ever heard anyone say._

"Well, I know Mike loves you both very much," Charlie said, "I probably shouldn't tell you, but Mike all but fainted when Crockett told him the victim was Angie. Went white as a sheet."

Todd chuckled at that but sobered quickly, saying, "Yeah… yeah, so did I, though I don't think could ever get that white myself. I can't even be sure how I got here. I just couldn't believe it when he said it was Mike's truck. He would never do something like that, not even if he was possessed by the Devil. I just don't know who would wanna hurt my Angie like that. Nobody hates her, least of all Mike."

"Lt. Crockett's gonna get to the bottom of this. I know it."

They sat there for about twenty minutes all told, just chatting, Charlie trying her best to cheer Todd up. He was a wonderfully nice man, and she wanted to keep his spirits up. When Mike finally came out of Angie's room, his face and eyes were red and wet.

"I'm sorry, Todd," he mumbled.

"Don't be. It's not your fault, Mike. Look at you… you look worse than me, you ol' softie…"

The two men embraced briefly, and Todd went back into his wife's room, leaving Mike and Charlie standing in the corridor. Mike was sniffling quietly, apparently doing his best to try not to cry anymore. Something clenched in Charlie's chest. She reached over and twined their fingers, whispering, "Come on, Mike. Let's go home. We'll take a nice nap. I know I need one, and it might make you feel better, too. Here… let's go."

She gave a gentle tug, and Mike followed. Chet was lounging on the couch in the apartment when they returned, thumbing through a magazine and watching TV.

"Hey, is everything alright?" he asked, his brow knitting slightly.

"I think so," Charlie replied, "Dr. Early said Angie'll make a full recovery, but she's in pretty rough shape for now. Her husband was there when we got there, too. Todd's a pretty cool guy, y'know, and he was happy to see Mike."

"That's good, at least. You gonna take a nap, sis?"

"Yeah, I'll need it before my shift tonight. Hopefully I don't hear from Mrs. Jenkins and Homer again tonight… Anyway, wake me up at about three or four, 'kay?"

Chet agreed, and Charlie went into her room, changing into some pajamas. She closed her blinds and had just slipped under the covers for a nice long nap when there was a knock at the door.

"What?"

"It's-… it's Mike. Can I come in?"

"Yeah, come on in…"

The tall fireman slipped in and closed the door behind him. _He still looks so miserable._ She pulled back the covers, and Mike climbed in, curling up beside her, jeans and all. She reached out, brushing the hair back from his forehead. His eyes were still wet. He sniffled quietly.

"It's gonna be okay, Mike," she murmured, "Dr. Early said so, remember?"

"Yeah… I remember. Just-… why would somebody do this?"

"I don't know. Some people are just cold-hearted, I guess."

"But they used my truck. Why'd they do that, Charlie?"

His voice sounded so small and choked, and Charlie wished desperately she had an answer for him. She could only shush him gently and tell him to go to sleep. Whether or not Mike slept at all, she couldn't say, but he certainly still looked miserable when she woke up.


	3. Oh, Did You Ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was just recently given a (unexpected) crash course on fire department policy in the reviews for another fic of mine. I've tried to reconcile that new information here, but please know that I did my best to research the information and used what I could find. Please be respectful in pointing out any errors. 
> 
> **Warnings**: This chapter includes period-accurate ableist language/slurs/ideas. These are *not* my personal opinions but instead are reflective of the time period and thoughts people would likely have had. This will reoccur in later chapters, as well.

The police took Mike's truck for the investigation the same day he went to see Angie at Rampart, but from what Crockett said, the findings weren't very helpful. They found clear evidence it was the vehicle used in the crime, but there was none found to indicate it had been broken into or hotwired. On top of it, there were five witnesses who could confirm Mike had never left the station that night. No one had any clear answers. It was frustrating, and no one was more frustrated than Mike. The only good thing was that Crockett believed Mike and the other guys at 51s and refused to arrest him or treat him as a suspect.

Angie came out of her coma after a couple days, and Mike went back to see her about a week after his initial visit. He explained the whole crazy story to Angie, who was suitably amazed.

"I knew it was your truck, but I knew it couldn't be you, Mikey," Angie told him groggily, "The police want me to blame you, I think, want me to say it was you, but I won't. I can't. And Shelley won't say it was you, either. It was so dark that night, she couldn't see a driver… oh, I just know you didn't do it, Mikey, not my best friend… and I'm glad that Lt. Crockett feels the same way I do. He's the only one who doesn't want me to blame you for what happened."

Everyone was stymied: the police, Mike, the men on A-shift, Angie, Charlie, everyone.

"I just can't figure out who'd wanna go through the trouble of makin' it look like I did it," he told Charlie one day, "I mean, it's pretty elaborate. Why would someone wanna steal my truck, run down one of my best friends, and bring my truck back, all to make it look like I did it?"

"Probably someone who hates you a whole lot. But who?"

"That's just it. I have no idea who'd hate me that much."

It was true. Mike had racked his brain for days trying to figure out who might want to do this to him. He thought back to his old stations, other guys in the department, his time in the academy, his two years of community college, even back past high school and middle school. Mike had been rather quiet and shy for most of his life, so he tended to keep to himself and not make trouble. He'd had few friends, though he was extremely close to those he did have. He just couldn't figure out whom he'd pissed off enough to want to send him to prison.

"Look, they're gonna have to figure all this out sooner or later," Charlie said, "They're gonna find some fingerprints, or someone's gonna come forward with something they saw, or something like that. This is all gonna blow over soon, Mike."

"And if it doesn't?"

"You can't think like that. Be positive, Mike. Think happy thoughts."

_Easy for you to say. You're not the one in danger of being arrested for a hit-and-run._ Everyone tried to be supportive and keep upbeat for him, but the ongoing investigation was taking a toll on everyone. Mike's truck was still being held by the police after two weeks, so he needed a ride to and from the station. He'd simply taken to staying with Chet and Charlie, so no one was really unnecessarily burdened with driving to his apartment, and it was nice spending the extra time with Charlie… as nice as it could be with a charge of aggravated assault or attempted murder or whatever it was hanging over him, anyway.

At least he could still drive the engine. If the investigation had prevented him from driving Big Red, he would rather not work at all. That was his job, his calling, all he'd ever wanted to do. He loved this job so much he'd actually turned down a number of offers for captaincy. He wondered if he'd have those opportunities when this was all over.

Mike was thankful to be kept busy during his shifts. There were plenty of runs, both day and night, so he was tired enough to sleep when he was off. During his shifts, John and Roy brought back plenty of updates on Angie, and Mike dropped in on her when he could. For her part, Angie steadfastly refused to incriminate Mike in any way, refusing to press charges against Mike and going so far as to tell Crockett she wouldn't cooperate if charges were pressed. _It's sure nice to know you have friends._

Crockett dropped by the station about three weeks after the ordeal began, about the third week of August. Chet was in the process of doling out chili for dinner and made up a bowl for Crockett, too.

"So, lieutenant, I know you didn't come just for Kelly's chili," Cap said.

"Very observant," Crockett replied, "I'm just here to keep y'all updated on the case. See, we're really coming to the conclusion that someone was trying to frame you, Mike."

Mike, Marco, Chet, and John all chimed, "You don't say."

"I deserve that, I guess, but we had a couple theories on what happened. We're pretty sure making you look guilty was intentional rather than random, but the rest is a mystery. It could be that Mrs. Quigley was a random target herself, that the perp just wanted to make you look guilty no matter what, but it could be that she was also an intentional target, and the perp knows the two of you know each other. That means it was probably someone you know. Any ideas, Mike?"

"Well, I just can't be sure," Mike replied, "I'm pretty confident there's no one that hates Angie or Todd. They're both about the kindest people you could ever hope to meet. And me… well, honestly, I thought back to elementary school, and I can't think of a single person who'd hate me that much."

"You're sure?" Crockett asked, "No one you've worked with previously, even?"

Mike shook his head, "I can't think of anyone. I mean, there were some guys who weren't happy when I got promoted to engineer over them, but none of them were that upset."

Cap made a noise beside him, and asked, "Mike… what about that whole Pfeffer ordeal back in '65? When you were involved in that disciplinary issue?"

"Oh, yeah, I haven't really thought about it since it happened…"

"What happened?" Crockett asked.

If the story were made into a book or movie, no one would believe it; it was soap opera-worthy. Mike's first assignment was 69s, in Topanga Canyon where his parents lived, and was where he served his probationary. The engineer, Fred Llewellyn, was a man he looked up to and respected immensely. When Fred was promoted to captain and transferred to another station in late October of '63, Mike was fairly upset. He considered Fred a friend and a good mentor, and while he was happy to see him move up, he was sad to see him go. The engineer brought in to replace him was Art Pfeffer.

Initially, Mike liked Pfeffer. He was polite and funny and put up with all Mike's probing questions about being an engineer when he arrived in early November of '63, about the same time Angie and Todd got engaged. Pfeffer got along with the entire 69s C-shift. By the middle of '64, however, that had all changed. Pfeffer began to get irritable and mean. Mike overheard that he was suspected of maybe doing drugs or drinking excessively, but there wasn't any hard evidence, with no one willing to snoop through his locker and betray his confidence. There were also swirling rumors that he was cheating on his wife with various women and possibly prostitutes, though they were just rumors.

Mike, through no fault of his own, became wrapped up in the whole sordid affair when he accidentally caught Pfeffer behind his car in the parking lot of 69s in a fairly compromising position with a woman who was not his wife immediately following a shift. He immediately reported it to the captain, who suspended Pfeffer for the next shift and gave him a written reprimand for fraternization, though the reprimand didn't mention the identity of the woman. Captain Bittle's reasoning for the mere slap on the wrist was that it didn't occur while Pfeffer was on the clock. _I remember, Bittle was always one of those captains who preferred to keep things in-house rather than be a hardass about reporting everything. Sometimes it was great… others, not so much._

Pfeffer's behavior continued to decline and become more erratic, but no one could identify a cause, and because he still performed well while on scene, he continued to work. He was cited for a minor accident with the engine, which was determined to be someone else's fault, and for being late to work on multiple occasions. The issues weren't major, but it had frustrated Mike to no end that someone was just throwing away the job he dreamed of having.

A few months later, in March of '65, Mike was once again pulled into the affair when he saw Pfeffer in the locker room swallowing some pills and taking a swig from a flask. He went right in to the captain, so incensed he could hardly speak coherently enough to tell the captain what he saw. Mike didn't really care that Pfeffer was an asshole or that he was late. A person was going to have to learn to work with assholes and people who saunter in late all the time. Those were just the facts of life. Endangering the crew was unforgivable. There was absolutely no excuse for taking such liberties with the lives of the men you were supposed to protect, no excuse for being so careless with their lives.

"I remember," Mike explained, "I was so mad that every time I told the story for about two months I would start shaking. The disciplinary hearing was held almost immediately, and Pfeffer was fired right then and there."

"Did you provide some kind of testimony at the hearing?" Crockett queried.

"Yeah, everyone on our shift did, but I was the one who managed to see everything, so I guess you could say I was the star witness. I think he ended up going to prison not too long after, but I can't remember what for… maybe drug possession or DUI or something like that."

"Well, it gives me something to look into, at least, and it's certainly more of a lead than we've had. Tell me, Stoker, out of curiosity, did Pfeffer know you and Mrs. Quigley were acquainted?"

"Probably. Angie and Todd got married that January, and I was in the wedding, so I talked about it a lot and was usually with them when I wasn't working. I probably talked about 'em a lot, too, just 'cause we were such good friends and I was so happy for 'em. After the wedding, I probably showed the guys all the photos I could, so it's entirely possible Pfeffer knew what they looked like, knew their names."

"Alright, well, I'm gonna check into this Art Pfeffer fella," Crockett said, "You hang in there, Stoker. I'll be back with an update as soon as I have one. Don't hesitate to call if you think of anything new or if anything comes up, okay?"

"Wow," John spoke up after Crockett left, "I think I've actually heard about that Pfeffer guy, but I thought I was gettin' my leg pulled. I mean, I didn't think anyone could do all that on a shift. Why'd he start actin' like that, anyway? You ever find out, Mike?"

Mike shrugged, "Guess he couldn't hack it. Some guys just can't."

John mumbled, "Don't know how he got to engineer, then…" and returned to his second helping of chili. Mike shrugged again. Rumors circled 69s at the time that Pfeffer lost it because his wife was threatening to divorce him over the cheating and to take their only child to live with her parents on the other side of the county. Another said it was because he couldn't deal with the fact his only child and son was born with Down's syndrome and would never live a normal life or do anything like a normal person. Pfeffer had apparently started cheating when the child was born and diagnosed as retarded. Mike approved of none of it. _If you're committed enough to get married and have a kid, you're committed to whatever happens next. In sickness and in health, for better or for worse… isn't that what the vows say?_ The fact the he never called his son by name and only by 'the kid' or 'the retard' never exactly sat well with Mike, either.

When he left the station with Cap in the morning, he noticed a faded green, early-model Galaxie parked across the street, noticeable due to the primer over the hood and driver's side front fender. He thought nothing of it, except that it needed new paint, as Cap drove him over to the police station to pick up his truck. Next, he noticed it as he left the grocery store and later parked down the street from the dry cleaner's. The sight of it began to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. _It has to be a coincidence, like when you keep passing the same person in the store or just so happen to follow a car to the same place._ He shook the uneasy feeling and headed to Chet and Charlie's, hoping they would make him feel better.

Charlie had been on the night shift again and some good stories from the night before, including an encore performance from Mrs. Jenkins and Homer and a call from a little girl about someone dying who got a squad and engine toned out only to discover she'd had a nightmare after watching a horror film she probably shouldn't have. There were a few emergencies, too, the big ones being an MVA and a shooting.

"We were at that MVA, I think," Chet said.

"You were, I sent the call out."

"Oh, yeah, it was out on the interstate. Not as bad as it looked, though," Mike added.

"Yeah, I heard there weren't any major injuries or fatalities," Charlie replied, "Anyway, I'm meeting a girlfriend for lunch. You boys gonna be okay by yourselves?"

"Oh, I think we can manage, sis. You go have fun."

The two firemen watched her go and turned their attention to the TV. Chet spoke up after a moment, "Boy, you're even quieter than usual, Mike. What's eatin' ya? Besides the obvious, of course…"

Mike told him about the faded green Ford he'd seen around that morning.

"You're sure it was the same car?"

"Yeah, a '62 Galaxie. It was a two-door hardtop with primer on the hood and front driver's side fender. Can't really be more than one."

"Sounds to me like you oughta give Crockett a call about it. I mean, it could be nothing, but… well, it could definitely be something, too. I wouldn't wanna chance it."

Mike hummed in response, and there was a pause. Chet spoke again, "You, uh… you waited until Charlie was gone on purpose."

It was not a question. Mike sighed, "I didn't wanna worry her more than necessary… especially when it might be nothing."

"No, you're worried she _will_ worry because it _is_ something, and that's why you should call Crockett. There's a crazy guy out there gunnin' for ya, Mike. Could be he drives a shitty old Ford. You ever see it before today, Mike?"

"I mean, I like to think I'd remember it, but I don't think I have. It's pretty distinctive."

Chet shrugged, "Well, it's up to you, but I would call Crockett."

Mike said nothing. He wanted to sleep on it, but he didn't exactly sleep well when he saw the faded green Galaxie sitting outside a diner near his apartment building.


	4. What A Clear View It Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was initially two shorter chapters, split just before Cap's POV, but I thought it might work better as one long one.

"And you just wanted to wait and tell me this?" Crockett asked, voice raised.

The tone made Mike wince, as did Chet's, "See? I told you to call him!"

"I-I just wanted to be sure it wasn't nothing," Mike replied, feeling more than a little defensive.

A collective sigh went up from the men in the room.

"Well," Crockett spoke up, "you were right about one thing, Stoker. Pfeffer did end up in prison. He was arrested for drug possession, DUI, and solicitation back in '67, and he's been in the joint more often than not for violating parole. He's been out since May now, working for some mechanic, and he does own a green Ford of the year and model you described. Of course, we don't have the condition listed, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was pretty beat up. Probably all he could afford right outta the joint."

Mike pursed his lips a bit but said nothing. Crockett continued, "His record says that he wasn't really… uh, entirely sane while he was locked up. Had a few run-ins with the prison shrinks, apparently talked about revenge a lot."

"Why didn't they keep him locked up if he wants revenge?" Cap asked.

"Honestly, everyone in prison usually wants revenge on someone, whether it's someone who testified against them, or the lawyer who didn't get 'em off, or the cop who collared 'em in the first place. They never really carry these threats out most of the time, that's just some TV bullshit. If they do, it's usually husbands or boyfriends lookin' for the woman who was supposed to wait or ratted 'em out. Not really the situation we have here…"

John opened his mouth to speak, but the tones dropped for a squad call, sending the two paramedics and Cap out into the bay. Mike turned to Crockett, asking, "What can I do, lieutenant?"

"Well I'm gonna try to track Pfeffer down and question him today. Whether or not that's gonna make him back off or make him more dangerous, I just can't say. Ideally, I'd like to put you in protective custody, but something tells me you wouldn't exactly appreciate that very much."

"No, not really."

"Then I suggest you go about your daily business as usual, being cautious about your surroundings, of course. If you could stay with someone or have someone stay with you for the night, that would be best, just so you aren't alone if something does happen. I'm gonna try to see if he's at work, but you know how some of these guys lie to their POs…"

Cap returned as Crockett headed out and asked, "So, Stoker, what's goin' on?"

"A crazy guy wants revenge on me, apparently. What's new?"

"Man, it's like déjà vu all over again," Chet said, "except it's you gettin' stalked and not Charlie this ti- oh. Do you think Charlie might be in trouble, too?"

Mike's stomach flopped.

"Well… if Angie was targeted because she knows me, then I guess… I guess he might try to hurt Charlie, too. I… I hadn't thought of that before…"

"You've been staying with Chet, haven't you?" Marco asked.

"Yeah, so if Pfeffer's been following me, he sure knows I'm close with Charlie."

A tense silence fell, and Mike ran a hand through his hair. This was getting worse by the minute. _Charlie and Chet have just been through so much already… I don't know what her getting hurt like that again would do to them…_ Knots were tying themselves up in his stomach.

"Look, it's gonna be alright," Cap said after a moment, clearly trying to cheer everyone up, "This whole thing is gonna blow over in no time at all. I know it."

He didn't exactly sound confident, but Mike appreciated what he was trying to do.

"But what about Charlie?" Chet asked, his blue eyes wide with concern, "She's already had somethin' like this happen once. If-if she got attacked like that again, Cap, I-…"

His voice broke off, and he cast his gaze down to his lap. _I know, Chet. I'm with you._ Cap sighed, putting his hands on his hips. Nobody wanted a repeat of the Incident.

"We'll figure something out, Chet, don't worry. Maybe she could come and stay with me and Ginny for a bit. The girls are away with some friends, so they won't be home," Cap offered, "It'll at least give her a break from your cookin'."

Chet gave him a small smile that faded quickly. It was getting pretty difficult not to worry.

xXxXx

Chet had been worried since the day before, when Mike told him about the battered green Ford. Hearing he'd then seen the car near his apartment building that night made Chet as uneasy as ever. He could remember all too well what happened two years before, when his little sister was stalked and nearly beaten to death (along with Johnny), and now it was poised to happen all over again. He felt shaky and angry, but he didn't know who to be angry at. _And that's the worst part. It's easier to be pissed off when you know who to be pissed at._

"…paying attention, Kelly?"

The sound of own name drew him from his thoughts. Cap, Mike, and Marco were all staring at him. Chet blinked and blushed slightly, asking, "Sorry… could you repeat that?"

"Why don't you give Charlie a call and tell her what's goin' on, Chet?" Cap suggested, "That way she'll be informed, and you can tell her she can stay with me and Ginny if she wants."

"I dunno, I don't want her worryin' and-"

"You should tell her what's happening," Marco spoke up, "It's not fair to keep her in the dark. Besides, she's a lot stronger than we give her credit for, I think. She really deserves to know."

"Alright… alright, I'll go do it now…"

Chet slumped into the dorm to make his call.

_"Hello, this is Charlotte Kelly."_

"Charlie, it's Chet."

_"What's up, Chet? You don't sound too good. You feelin' okay?"_

"No, I'm not," he replied truthfully, "Look, there's-… this thing with Mike just keeps gettin' worse. Now, we're all okay. Nobody's hurt. Just… Mike just let everyone know about this shitty green Galaxie that he's seen around town, like it was followin' him. Crockett's pretty sure it was followin' him… so, uh… we thought it might be a good idea for you to stay with Cap for a few days."

_"Why? Why do I have to go-"_

"To keep you safe. This guy tryin' to mess with Mike might've targeted Angie because they were close, so if he finds out how close the two of you are, what exactly would he try to do to you, huh?"

Charlie sighed on the other end of the line but said nothing. Chet wet his lips and continued quietly, "If someone's gonna get hurt in all this… I'd much rather it be me or Mike than you. I-I don't wanna see you hurt like that again."

There was another long pause before Charlie finally agreed, _"Okay… okay. I'll stay with Cap. What does Mike think?"_

"No one wants to see you get hurt, sis… especially not Mike."

Mike didn't have to say it aloud for Chet to know it was true. He'd seen the evolution of their relationship firsthand, and though he was the first to admit he didn't quite understand it, he was also the first to point out that they clearly loved each other. He waited for Charlie's reply.

_"Alright… I guess Cap's gonna pick me up or something?"_ she asked.

"We haven't exactly worked out all the details yet, but we'll call dispatch later to let you know. Just make sure you pack a bag for a few days."

_"Okay, I'll be ready. And Chet? It's gonna be okay."_

"Yeah, that's what Cap said."

_"You should listen to him. He knows what he's talkin' about."_

"I know, that's how he got to be a captain. Anyway, we'll call tonight, and then I'll be sure to call tomorrow, too."

_"I'll look forward to it. Love you."_

"Love you, too, sis."

He hung up the phone and went to sit on his bunk, not quite wanting to go back out into the kitchen just yet. _Why does stuff like this keep happening? Can't we all just have it easy for once?_ There was a knock on the door of the dorm, and Marco poked his head in. Upon seeing Chet was off the phone, he stepped in all the way, shutting the door behind him. Marco walked over and took a seat on his own bunk, facing Chet. Neither spoke. Chet pulled in a deep breath and let it out, drawing comfort from the company of his friend, allowing Marco's presence to calm him.

"You alright, Chet?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah… I guess… it's just-… why does somethin' like this have to happen to us again? Isn't once enough?"

"Nothing's happened yet-"

"But it might!"

Chet looks up, knowing he probably looks entirely miserable and possibly half-crazed. Marco just looks worried, his brows slightly knit, his brown eyes soft, little lines sitting there at the corners of his eyes.

"I don't know why this is happening again. I guess… sometimes bad things just keep happening to good people."

Chet snorted. _Tell me about it._ Marco went on, "I'm sorry, amigo. I'm sorry these bad things keep happening to you. You don't deserve this. Not you, not Charlie, no one."

"I just wish I knew _why_. Things have just kept on goin' downhill since I was thirteen. The only good thing really was gettin' my job here with the department and meetin' all you guys. I-… I don't know what I'd do without all of you…"

The last sentence is quiet, so quiet Chet couldn't be sure Marco had even heard him at all. He heard the bunk across from him creak and felt his own dip under added weight, felt a comforting warmth beside him. An arm pressed against Chet's back, and a hand came to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently. Chet leaned into the warmth slightly. _Marco is a hugger, after all. This is as much for him as it is for me… which is good because I sure need it a whole lot._ He leaned in a little more, giving Marco a nudge in the ribs with his elbow when the older man chuckled quietly.

"I think I'll give Mama a call," Marco spoke up after a minute or so, "She'll want to pray for you. Well, she'll want to pray for everyone. I swear the woman spends half the day praying."

"We could probably use it right about now."

Marco gave Chet a quick squeeze and went to the phone, dropping in a dime and dialing his mother's number. He was soon involved in a conversation of rapid Spanish mixed with random English that Chet couldn't quite follow. He sort of understood why people needed to pray. Coming from a sizable Irish family, Chet had three cousins devoted to the Church in various places across the country: one priest and two nuns (one a Franciscan and the other a Sister of Mercy). Chet thought maybe he ought to give one or all of them a call at some point because having more prayers certainly couldn't hurt, but his thoughts were cut short by the tones dropping for a man trapped.

xXxXx

Hank was a bit surprised at how quiet Charlie was on the way to his house, but if he was being fair, he didn't have much to say, either. All of Station 51 was on edge after what happened overnight.

The tones woke the shift at about quarter after three in the morning for a burning car, so the squad was called out too in order to make sure any injured persons could be treated. Hank knew the address was vaguely familiar, like it was near something he knew, but his still sleepy mind couldn't provide the information right away. The car itself was burning in an empty lot, but only a block from the lot was the apartment building where Mike lived. Mike didn't seem too fazed at first. After all, it was probably just a stolen car the thief set on fire to get rid of. It didn't happen all the time, but it occurred often enough that that particular assumption wasn't unreasonable.

Marco and Chet got the fire out fairly quickly, and John and Roy couldn't find any evidence of injured victims either in the car or in the vicinity. _Torch job it is then. Shame really. It was a early model Galaxie, I think. Someone coulda fixed that up pretty nice and drove it for years… if it wasn't rusted out anyway. Happens with Fords sometimes._ Hank turned back to the engine, ready to tell his men to clean up and get back to the barn. Mike was sitting on the running board, looking too pale and like he might be sick. Hank shouted for his paramedics, and they came running.

"What is it, Mike?" John asked, "Are you hurt?"

The engineer shook his head and pointed a shaky finger at the car.

"You know whose car it is? Do you think they might be hurt?"

He shook his head again, and John and Roy shared a look. That's when Chet spoke up, "Guys, that's a green '62 Ford Galaxie 2-door hardtop… with primer on the hood and the front driver's side fender. We all know whose car this is… and we all know this wasn't an accident."

The dark tone in Chet's usually cheerful voice sent a shiver up Hank's spine. Mike turned wide, fearful blue eyes on his captain. The car was too recognizable. Pfeffer must have lit it up after being questioned by Crockett. Did Crockett mention that Mike had seen it? That he knew he was being followed? No, he's smarter than that… Hank swore quietly and called for a police officer, then carefully shuffled everyone around and sent Mike and Roy back to the station in the squad. He certainly hoped Pfeffer wasn't watching from the shadows somewhere, but if he was, he wanted to make him think Mike was John. He made sure to tell Gage and DeSoto to go available while they finished up, then told Stoker (John) he would drive the engine back because he still seemed too ill to drive. With everyone in turnouts and helmets in the dark, it was a sound plan, especially if he was the only one talking. Mike and Roy were in the kitchen when they returned. No one went back to sleep.

Hank stifled a yawn as he pulled into his driveway. He'd called Ginny yesterday afternoon to let her know Charlie would be staying with them and why, hoping secretly his wife would choose to go to her sister's or mother's for those few days in case something did happen. She, of course, refused, saying, "Hank Stanley, I promised to stick with you no matter what. If you think I'm gonna leave you at a time like this, you're crazy."

Ginny welcomed Charlie with a hug, directing her to the guest room and telling her, "Now, you just make yourself right at home, darling. I've got breakfast on right now if you're hungry, and you'll have to tell me the things you like to eat so I can be sure to get them when I go shopping later. Oh, and let me know if there's anything you don't like so I know not to make it, alright?"

Charlie was a polite guest, if a little stiff. _She's just worried about her brother and Mike. Hell, I'm worried about 'em, too._ He knew Chet and Charlie were close, that they were basically the only immediate family the other had left. Chet's file stated his father was deceased in '58, an industrial accident, which meant Charlie would have only been six at the time. The image of the four Kelly children at their father's funeral hurtled unbidden into his mind's eye, reminding him of the firemen's funerals he's attended, of weeping widows and glassy-eyed children who may or may not have been old enough to understand what was happening. Hank had to suppress a shudder at the dining table. He couldn't imagine his own little girls growing up without their daddy, couldn't imagine his wife raising three girls on her own. _Mrs. Kelly had three boys and a girl to raise on her own… and then one died over in 'Nam-_ He couldn't hold back the shiver that time, but if either woman noticed, they said nothing.

Hank could honestly say he felt bad for Chet and Charlie. He couldn't say he pitied them, however. Pity wasn't what he felt at all. Hank just happened to be good at picking up on things, especially when his men were involved. He knew from listening that all their grandparents died between '58 and '68, that there was a brother between the two Kellys he knew that died over in Vietnam, and that their mother succumbed to lung cancer in '71. If there were any other deaths, Hank hadn't heard about them, but at the rate they seemed to be going, it wouldn't surprise him to hear it. He let Ginny in on this information back in their bedroom while Charlie watched some TV and finished breakfast.

"Oh, that poor kid… sounds like she lost half her family before she was twenty," Ginny whispered, "That, and then she was almost killed two years ago and-… goodness, I dunno how she does it, Hank."

"I just feel so bad. I wish there was more I could do for her and Chet and Mike."

She hummed in agreement, then asked, "Do you believe everything's gonna be alright?"

"Yes, I do… but-… I'm a little worried about what we'll have to go through before we're alright again."

Another little hum. Hank found himself reaching for her hands, wanting them to anchor him, to reassure him as they so often have.

"We can do it," Ginny said after a long moment, "Everything will be fine… as long as we all stick together. I know it."

She stood on tiptoe, smiling gently, and Hank obediently stooped to plant a kiss on her lips, giving her a smile of his own.

"Tell me, Ginny, how'd I get lucky enough to marry you?"

"Simple. I thought you were cute, absolutely dreamy, and I decided I wanted you all to myself."

"You got me."

"I sure did… and now I've got you well trained, too," she smirked, standing on tiptoe again. Hank chuckled softly, problems momentarily forgotten, and bent to kiss his wife again.

Ginny headed out to the store that afternoon, after finally getting Charlie to admit what foods she did and didn't like. Charlie had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up like a cat on one end, and Hank dutifully laid a blanket over her before deciding to doze off in his chair. A small noise woke him, something unrelated to the white noise of the TV or the air conditioner. Three daughters had Hank fine-tuned to any noises like that, especially if they might be a nightmare. He looked around blearily for the source, and sure enough, it was Charlie having a nightmare. It didn't seem like a bad one. She wasn't thrashing and tossing and crying out, but she had little twitches in the muscles of her face and arms. Hank rose from his chair without even thinking and went to sit by her on the couch, reaching out to brush some stray strands of hair from her forehead, murmuring soothingly, telling her everything would be alright. His movements were softer than he ever imagined they could have been before he'd had daughters.

He watched as Charlie shifted under her blanket, finally calming after a minute or two, her features softening. She looked about as young as his daughters in her sleep, her twenty-three years fading sharply to sixteen. Charlie shifted again, nestling closer to Hank in her sleep, and murmured something that sounded a lot like, "Daddy…"

Something twisted painfully in Hank's chest. _Six… she was only six when her daddy died…_ Did her own father once do this for her? Did he soothe her bad dreams and little hurts? Did he tell her bedtime stories, like he used to for his children? Did he hold her when she cried and tell her everything would be alright? Hank swallowed around the lump in his throat. He adjusted her blanket to make sure she was comfortable, and murmured, "It's gonna be alright, Charlie."

His stomach gave a funny little flop he barely noticed… barely.

xXxXx

"Come on, Mike, you okay?" Chet asked, shaking his friend gently.

The engineer started, turning wide blue eyes on Chet, who felt something twist in his chest and stomach. He'd never seen Mike like this. Mike Stoker was the rock of 51s: solid, steady, calm. He was not excitable. He took the time to think before he spoke. He never got mad, and Chet was almost certain he'd never seen the man yell in anger. Mike was even there to calm Cap down if he was too amped up over something. To see Mike so truly upset was unsettling. Chet gave the older man's shoulder a comforting squeeze, saying, "Come on, Mike. We'll stop by my place so I can grab some things and then go to yours, 'kay?"

Mike was shaking visibly when he stood, his face still pale, so Chet suggested he would drive. He knew Mike wasn't well when he agreed without complaint. Both were silent on the way to Chet's apartment.

"I'm sorry," Mike blurted once they were inside.

Chet felt his mouth fall open but (for once) couldn't think of anything to say. Mike went on, his voice increasingly thick, "I'm sorry you all got dragged into this. I-I… I can't believe this happened. Now-… now, I've put everyone I care about in danger because of-… shit, I don't even know what all this is. One of my best friends was almost killed, another is danger staying with me, and-and the girl I-… shit."

Mike dropped onto the couch, his face in his hands. Chet went over to sit beside him, resting a hand on his back, telling him, "Look, Mike, none of this is your fault, babe. This is almost exactly what happened to Charlie a couple years ago, remember? It's not your fault this cat wants revenge for something that happened years ago. He's crazy. This whole fuckin' thing is crazy. No one coulda predicted somethin' like this would happen. 'Course, I'm not sayin' you can't be worried or-or scared. I am. Just don't blame yourself."

"Do… do you think they're gonna be okay? Charlie and Cap and Ginny?" Mike asked.

"Yes," Chet answered immediately, "They're gonna be okay. I know it."

Mike nodded jerkily and put his face back in his hands, still shaky, still pale. Chet remained at his side for a long moment, trying to be a comforting presence, feeling the older man lean into his warmth. He left his hand on Mike's back, feeling the strong shoulders jump as he tried not to cry out loud. _I didn't realize he was this messed up over it. He never let on._ Mike was so good at being silent and stalwart that no one could've guessed until last night that he wasn't handling this situation well. He could handle anything, after all. He never panicked or showed fear, even when he must be terrified for his friends' safety, even when he was hurt that spring. Chet swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and asked quietly, "You want me to make some coffee, Mike?"

"That depends," Mike sniffed, "It gonna be better than your usual coffee?"

Chet huffed, smiling, and replied, "Yeah… it'll be the best I've ever made."

Mike picked his head up from his hands and wiped at his face, sniffling loudly and drawing a shaky breath. He said, "Well, I guess I can't pass that offer up."

Chet gave his friend a solid pat on the back and went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with two steaming mugs of black coffee. He handed the larger of the two to Mike.

"Y'know, why don't we just hang out here for a bit before headin' over to your place?" Chet suggested, "I'm pretty tired after last night… might try to catch a nap or somethin'…"

Mike made a noise of agreement, and in no time at all, they had both drifted off to sleep there on the couch… and if Chet woke to discover they were using each other as a pillow, well, whose business was that, anyway?

xXxXx

The sun was just starting to set when Mike and Chet finally got ready to head over to Mike's apartment. Chet called Cap's house to let Charlie know they were heading over and that she could call them there if she needed anything.

"Hey, she wants to talk to you," Chet said, passing Mike the phone.

"Charlie, is everything alright? Cap and Ginny treatin' you well?"

_"Very. They're bein' so wonderful to me, treatin' me just like I was family," she replied, "What about you? Are you alright?"_

"Yeah, I'm okay…"

_"Don't lie to me."_

"I-… I'm just worried about you, is all."

_"Funny… I'm worried about you, too."_

"Look, I'm sorry… I'm sorry you have to go through all this again."

_"It's not your fault,"_ she told him, unknowingly echoing her brother, _"Just… just both of you stay safe… for me. Keep each other safe."_

"I'll try… for you."

_"Good. Call later tonight, so I know you're both okay."_

"Alright, I will. It's… well, uh… it's nice to hear your voice."

_"Yeah… it's nice to hear yours, too. Anyway, I'll let you go. Stay safe. Both of you. And remember to call me, Mike."_

Chet came back with his duffel as Mike hung up the phone. He gave Mike a long look and asked, "You wanna swing by the station and get your truck?"

"Nah… you better drive still…"

Chet simply nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. Mike certainly appreciated everything Chet was doing for him. He didn't have to do half as much as he'd already done. He'd let Mike stay with him, made him comfortable, made him feel like it wasn't his fault. Mike still had trouble believing that, that it wasn't his fault. _It has to be… why else would I feel so shitty?_ He looked back to the curly-haired man driving the grubby van.

Mike felt that he understood Chet pretty well. He tended to rub most people the wrong way, usually because his mouth worked faster than his brain and because he liked to have a little fun with people. Really though, Chet was a big softie. He was the first one to try and make a little kid feel better when they were hurt or scared, to comfort a victim. Chet was first in line to cheer up his shiftmates, too, the first to offer a friendly word or a listening ear.

"Thanks, Chet," Mike said quietly as Chet put the van in park.

"Aw, it was no trouble. You don't live that far-"

"No, I don't mean just for driving here. I wanna thank you for-for everything you've been doin' for me during this whole thing. You've just been-… well, you've done a lot for me, and-and none of it was somethin' you had to do… so thanks."

Chet blinked at him for a moment, and then his expression softened. He patted Mike on the arm, saying, "You are very welcome, Mike. Come on, let's go inside. You're makin' dinner, right?"

"Sure, if you want me to."

"Of course I do! You're the best cook at the station!"

Mike chuckled, and Chet continued, "I mean, I kinda thought it was part of the deal. I'm stayin' here with you, tryin' to keep you safe, so I think I might deserve a good meal or two."

They trooped up to the second floor, Mike tense and instinctively looking around. Chet put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, saying in a low voice, "Calm down. Hey, there's no one here."

The hairs on the back of Mike's neck were on end. _But it feels like someone's here… someone who shouldn't be. Can't you feel it, too?_ Mike didn't feel any relief when he unlocked his apartment door and went inside.

"Couch looks comfy," Chet commented, then smirked, "unless we're sharin' the bed like you offered Charlie."

"I might be willing to give up my bed to you, but I'm not sure I'd wanna share with you, Chet."

"Why not, Mike? I will have you know I am a _great_ cuddler."

"That may be, but you snore."

Chet laughed, and some of Mike's tension ebbed away. He ducked into the kitchen to check what he had to use for dinner. He heard Chet drop his duffel.

"See, babe, you got all worried for no reas-"

Mike waited for Chet's telltale snicker, calling, "That's not funny, Chet."

He didn't hear it. The hairs on the back of his neck went up again, adrenaline beginning to course through his system. Mike slowly went into the living room.

He did not like what he found there.


	5. Standing Out in the Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings**: This chapter contains violence, gun violence, strong language, homophobic language, and brief ableist language, as well as mentions of sexual/homosexual acts.

Chet was certainly not expecting to be held at gunpoint that day. He supposed nobody really _expects_ to be held at gunpoint on any given day, though, and yet he found himself staring down the snub-nosed barrel of a .38 Colt Detective Special held by a fairly unstable looking man. He was gaunt and unkempt, ginger hair short and sticking up in different places, the smell of stale cigarette smoke and sweat wafting off him. With his back to the kitchen, Chet heard Mike enter the living room, his steps careful and slow. _Oh, Mike, don't blame yourself for this, too. I don't. I don't blame you for any of this. I wish I could tell you that._ Chet was vaguely comforted by the fact that the hammer on the revolver wasn't down… yet.

"Hello, Stoker. Long time, no see."

The man smiled, revealing yellowing teeth and a missing canine.

"Hello, Pfeffer," Mike replied cautiously.

Pfeffer cocked the hammer, and Chet was immensely grateful he'd used the bathroom before he left his apartment.

xXxXx

Mike felt cold in spite of the adrenaline rushing through his system. There, in his apartment, was Chet being held at gunpoint, the point of a revolver Pfeffer just cocked. Mike swallowed.

"It's been… what? Ten years since you got me fired?" Pfeffer said, wearing a crazed smile that looked more like a snarl with every passing second, "That's quite a long time, isn't it?'

"Yeah… yeah, I'd say so," Mike responded carefully.

"Aren't you gonna ask how I've been, Stoker?"

_I was hoping to not do that, actually, but if that's what you want…_

"H-How have you bee-"

"Awful, thanks for asking," Pfeffer snapped, "I'm sure you were happy to hear I went to prison in '67."

"I'm never happy to hear about bad things happening to people."

"No? You weren't? So you weren't happy to hear my wife left me, huh?" he shot back, "Weren't happy to hear she took the retard and went back to her parents?"

Mike chose to say nothing, and he prayed Chet would keep his mouth shut, too. One wrong word, one wrong move, and Pfeffer would squeeze that trigger and leave Chet's brain scattered all over the apartment.

"See, Stoker, they say that when you get locked up," Pfeffer went on, still wearing that crazed smile and pointing the revolver between Chet's eyes, "you find out who your real friends are. You find out where people's loyalties are. You wanna know something? I don't have any friends, apparently. No family, either. I got locked up, and that was it. I was totally alone. Turns out no one actually gives a fuck about me. Do have any idea what it feels like to have everyone you thought gave a fuck abandon you, Stoker?... DO YOU?"

Both men flinched at Pfeffer's shout, and Mike quickly answered, "No no no, I don't. I don't know how that feels. I can't imagine how it must-"

"You're right, you don't. Honestly, I was hoping you'd be in jail by now for runnin' down your precious Angie, but it seems your friends have too much faith in you, and… and I think that's worse than anything. I used to be part of that brotherhood, remember? My brothers were supposed to trust me, and instead you bastards got me fired."

"Because we couldn't trust you anymore, Pfeffer," Mike explained, "You were abusing that trust, putting your brothers in danger by doing and drinking when you were supposed to be working. We couldn't trust someone like that. We couldn't tolerate that behavior from anyone on a shift."

"I guess that's why you reported me for fraternizing? For gettin' a little head?"

"It was inappropriate. If a civilian had seen somethin' like that-"

"No no, I know why it bothered you so much, Stoker."

"Maybe 'cause you were married?" Chet quipped.

Mike's heart rate skyrocketed. He waited for the pull of the trigger, the deafening crack of the gunshot, the sickening splatter of blood and brain and skull. Pfeffer cocked his head at Chet, spitting, "Did I say anythin' to you, faggot?"

"Not-not directly, no, but… well, I'm right here and I do like to be included."

There was a loud smack as Pfeffer backhanded Chet hard across the mouth. Chet's head whipped to the side, but he made no sound except for a quiet grunt.

"You shut the fuck up," Pfeffer told the lineman, "I don't take lip from fags like you," and grabbed the collar of his shirt, forcing him upright and sticking the barrel of the gun into the base of his skull.

"See, I got it all figured out now, Stoker," Pfeffer went," It's simple… so simple…"

A trickle of blood ran down Chet's chin. His eyes darted to the side, and Mike had to shake his head minutely to discourage him from pulling whatever stunt he was thinking about.

"I thought you were in love with that Angie chick when we were back at 69s, and I thought you were bangin' that cute little dispatcher now… but I can see that I was all wrong," Pfeffer explained crazily, "That's why you snitched me out for that blowjob. I know now. You're a fag who was in love with your best friend that married Angie, and now you're fuckin' this guy. It's bad enough, you bein' an ass pirate, but a guy you work with, Stoker? That's pretty sick."

Mike opened his mouth to refute it, but he caught Chet's eye. The younger man mouthed, 'Play along," his body tense. Mike wet his lips nervously. Pfeffer took his silence for agreement.

"A fuckin' queer, I knew it. _Disgusting._ The way you were talkin' to each other when you came in… How the hell do ya get away with it?"

"The dispatcher is my sister," Chet spoke up, "We, uh… we thought it would be a-a good cover."

"Y-yeah… yeah, we can spend more time together without suspicion."

"God, you're both nasty. It's awful. And you thought I was inappropriate gettin' head from that whore? You fuckin' hypocrite, I bet the two of you hook up at work all the time, sneak off for a handie or some shit. Huh, Kelly-" he pressed the gun harder into the base of Chet's skull, and Mike's pulse went up again at Pfeffer knowing Chet's name, "-you take him out in that van of yours and fuck him?"

"I-I think that's a-a bit personal-"

His voice was cut off in a squeak as Pfeffer smacked him across the back of his head with his free hand. He grabbed Chet by the hair, forcing his head up, a pained yelp escaping his lips.

"I'm feelin' _very_ generous right now, Stoker, so I'm gonna give you a gift, one I don't think you deserve, " Pfeffer told him slowly, dangerously, "I'm gonna let you say goodbye before I blow his head off. Disgusting as it is, I'll even let you tell him you love him… but you better make it quick."

xXxXx

Chet's heart beat a wild tattoo against his ribs, adrenaline coursing through his blood while he listened to Pfeffer's accusations. _Well, I guess 'accusation' isn't the right word. More like insinuation. I mean, it's not like queer is the worst thing I could be… not when I might be dead soon._ He tried to keep eye contact with Mike as much as possible, as if he could convince Mike of his blamelessness and keep him calm by doing it. Remaining calm was a little difficult when the barrel of a revolver was sticking in the base of his skull, however.

"I'm feelin' _very_ generous right now, Stoker, so I'm gonna give you a gift, one I don't think you deserve, " Pfeffer said slowly, dangerously, "I'm gonna let you say goodbye before I blow his head off. Disgusting as it is, I'll even let you tell him you love him… but you better make it quick."

Chet did his best to hold Mike's gaze, every muscle in his body so tense it was almost painful. Pfeffer had Chet's hair in an excruciating grip and shook him, eliciting another pained whimper, and hissed, "Don't you have somethin' to tell him, fag? Somethin' you wanna say before I blow your brains out?"

"Mike, I-… this isn't your fault," Chet told him earnestly, "I don't blame you, I promise."

His friend's blue eyes were wide and wet. _Believe it. Please believe it. I would never lie to you, babe. Never._ Mike was clearly trying to put on a brave face as he asked, "You really mean that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I really mean it."

"Come on, boys, clock's tickin'."

"Pfeffer, don't do this," Mike pleaded, "Please, _please_ don't kill him."

Mike's brave face was crumbling. He looked pale and shaky, just like when they found the burned out Galaxie. Chet felt oddly calm. He'd had time to think about death quite a lot in Vietnam. There was a lot of death to contemplate, after all. He remembered what the corpsmen used to say about headshots: instant death, no pain, just black. Chet knew guys whose heads had exploded, and he knew guys whose buddy's head exploded all over them. The latter never really ended up in a good place. Pfeffer shook him again, hissing, "C'mon, finish up."

Chet held Mike's gaze, staring down the frightened blue eyes. The tension bled out from his muscles. He knew what Pfeffer wanted him to say, and he knew, strangely, what he was about to say wasn't a lie, not in the slightest.

"Mike, it's not your fault, and… I-I love you."

"I know. I love you, too, Chet."

Chet smiled at Mike, feeling the barrel of the gun leave his head and Pfeffer's arm fall to his side. _Forgive me. You're not gonna like this. Not one bit._

"Forgive me, Mike," he murmured, "Please forgive me."

Mike's brow knit in confusion. _And Charlie. I hope she'll forgive me, too._

xXxXx

"Mike, I-… this isn't your fault," Chet said, his voice quiet but sincere, "I don't blame you, I promise."

That was hard to believe, but Mike had to. Chet wouldn't lie about that, not ever, and certainly not with the threat of imminent death hanging over him. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over but did his best to hold them back, to put on a brave face. _This can't be real. This must be a nightmare._

"You really mean that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I really mean it."

"Come on, boys, clock's tickin'."

Mike couldn't believe it. Tears blurred his vision. He felt hot and cold all at once, his body shaking. He pleaded, "Pfeffer, don't do this. Please, _please_ don't kill him," his voice thick. He was beginning to panic, his heart racing like it may explode. Logically, Mike knew if Pfeffer were to shoot Chet in the head, it would mean instant death. That would be it. The end. No pain, just his brain and blood and skull scattered over the apartment and Mike, too, probably. _I wish he'd just kill me instead… kill me and be done with it rather than hurt everyone I care about. What if this isn't the end? What if he goes after the other guys?_ He swallowed against the growing lump in his throat. Mike never did like being left behind.

Pfeffer gave Chet a rough shake, still gripping him by the hair, forcing a pained whimper past the lineman's lips, and hissed, "C'mon, finish up."

Chet met Mike's gaze and held it steadily, and Mike was amazed that he saw no trace of fear in the clear blue eyes. His chest felt tight.

"Mike, it's not your fault," Chet spoke up at last, "and… I-I love you."

Mike forced himself to remain as outwardly calm as possible. He just felt so helpless, and he was astounded that Chet had so much faith in him. _Chet's not lying, though. I can tell. What he just told me wasn't a lie… and I won't lie to him._

"I know. I love you, too, Chet."

Chet smiled at Mike. Kind, wonderful, trusting Chet. Mike wished he knew what he did to deserve such friendship. Pfeffer grinned wickedly, his gun hand dropping to his side.

"Forgive me, Mike," Chet murmured, barely audible across the room, "Please forgive me."

Confusion briefly overtook fear in Mike's mind. He only figured it out a fraction of a second before it happened.

Chet moved faster than Mike knew he could. His hand shot back, gripping Pfeffer's gun hand which was being held at his side, while he used his other arm to throw an elbow back into Pfeffer's side in an effort to get his head free. Pfeffer grunted and, though he still had a grip on the gun, was forced to release his hold on Chet's hair. Chet turned, not letting go of Pfeffer's gun hand, and aimed a vicious kick at one of his knees, trying to drop him, but Pfeffer dodged. He swung up with a wild haymaker Chet was forced to block, releasing the gun hand to do so but quickly grabbing it again with his other hand now that he was properly facing Pfeffer. Chet's leg shot out again, this time sweeping Pfeffer's out from under him, sending them both crashing to the floor. A gunshot split the air, set Mike's ears ringing, made him jump like he'd been shocked.

Chet landed a punch or two to Pfeffer's face in quick succession, pinning him to the floor, using his weight as an advantage. He still kept the gun pointed away from him. The muscles of his arm were straining to keep Pfeffer's arm pinned. Pfeffer flailed wildly under him, and he managed to connect with one of his crazed movements. Chet let out a pained grunt. Pfeffer's arm swung up again, this time hitting Chet in the side of the face and causing him to momentarily freeze. He used this to his advantage, grabbing Chet's shirt and rolling. They wrestled there, each trying to gain control of the gun, of the fight, of the other.

Another shot sounded, a violent crack renting the air. Chet screamed, his hands releasing Pfeffer and reaching for his leg. The sound sent a shiver crawling up Mike's spine and rage boiling in his chest. Pfeffer brought the butt of the revolver crashing down on Chet's head, sending him slumping over, limp and unconscious.

Mike tackled him, no longer caring about himself, not with Chet bleeding to death there on the floor. Both were shouting and swearing, throwing scattered punches, wrestling for an advantage. Mike couldn't be sure when the revolver went skittering across the floor, but he was glad it did. He soon won out, pinning Pfeffer to the floor and landing vicious blows to the face. Something snapped under his fist at one point, and he was so sure he wanted to keep hitting, to hit this man until he died choking on his blood, to absolutely _mutilate_ him. He pulled back from landing a blow, looking at the damage he'd already done. He'd knocked out a few of Pfeffer's teeth and broken his nose to be sure, his face a bloody pulp emanating manic, gurgling laughter.

He remembered why he was doing this. _No… Chet. Chet needs me._ Mike staggered ungracefully to where Chet was laying, pale and bleeding and unconscious. His stomach churned at the sight of the blood seeping out of his friend, but he quickly reached and put pressure on both wounds, entrance and exit, to try and stem the bleeding. _Thigh wounds are serious. A person can die in minutes._ The panic came flooding back worse than before, tears filling his eyes. Pfeffer was chortling by the door as sirens sounded.

"Chet?" Mike called, his voice frantic, "Chet, can you hear me? Wake up. Please, wake up! Please, _please_ -…"

No movement, not even a blink or muscle twitch. Mike didn't dare pull his hands away from Chet's leg. He felt his lip tremble. There was shouting amid the sirens now. He called Chet's name some more, his voice increasingly broken, his tears finally spilling over. _Please, please don't take him. Not now. Not like this._ The door crashed open. Two officers stepped in, weapons drawn, their eyes going wide at the scene before them. Something kicked into action in Mike's head.

"I need an ambulance and a paramedic squad now!" he barked at the officers, "My friend's been shot with a .38 revolver and he needs medical attention _now_!"

Things were a bit of a blur after that. Mike knew the paramedics from 51's C-shift came in, their faces pale but determined. An officer and a detective pulled Mike to the side and questioned him as to what happened, and Mike gave them the basics. ("He broke into my house and tried to kill me and my friend here. That's what happened to him.") A lot happened in a very short period of time, and suddenly Mike was just sitting there with Dwyer crouching beside him while police investigators poked around his apartment.

"Stoker, you alright?" Dwyer asked quietly, "Can you hear me, man?"

Mike nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Are you hurt anywhere, Stoker?"

He shook his head.

"Well, lemme check you over anyway, just in case, then we can go to Rampart in the squad, okay? Here, lemme see…"

He could taste blood in his mouth. Dwyer stated (more to himself than to Mike), "Got a little cut there on the cheekbone… definitely gonna bruise up later… hmm, split your lip… probably got a cut inside the lip, too, from your teeth… jaw'll probably bruise, too… alright… no pain in the shoulders… or the elbows… musta busted your knuckles on his teeth…"

Dwyer gave him a thorough check before saying quietly, "Alright, come with me, Mike. We'll get you washed up at the hospital. C'mere…"

His face was somber, and it made Mike's panic rear up again. _This is all my fault. Chet's gonna die, and it's all my fault._ He felt himself shaking in the squad, and he couldn't be sure how he kept it together until they reached Rampart, not with the way his emotions were swirling and storming. He almost broke down when he stepped foot in the emergency wing but managed to choke the sob down. _God, Chet, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please… please live… I just want you to live._


	6. And If You Feel That You Can't Go On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone who feels this chapter is wildly OOC... I felt that under the circumstances of seeing his friend shot, Mike may not be handling things well, especially if he tends to bottle things up as he has been through this ordeal.

The Stanley's phone rang at about quarter to nine. Ginny picked it up with, "Hello, this is the Stanley residence, Virginia speaking… Oh… Oh dear… Yes, he's right here, just-… Yes, just a moment."

Hank did not like the look that came over her face as she spoke. She beckoned him over, whispering, "It's for you. It's Dixie McCall from Rampart."

A chill spread through Hank's body, and his voice shook when he took the phone, asking, "He-Hello? Dixie? It's Hank. I-… what happened? Is it Mike and Chet? Are they hurt?"

_"Mike's fine physically, but I'm afraid Chet was more severely injured,"_ Dixie explained, using her best nurse's tone, _"He was shot in the outer thigh with a .38. It was a through and through, and it didn't hit any major bones or arteries, so that's something to be thankful for. He needed some blood, and his recovery will take maybe a month or so. Honestly, Dr. Early's more worried by a head injury he received, probably from being struck with the gun he was shot with. He's still unconscious, but there's no reason he won't make a full recovery."_

Hank couldn't make his mouth work, grief and happiness warring inside him. He was immensely glad to hear Chet was going to be alright, but there was no reason he had to be shot. Dixie continued on the other end of the line, _"Chet's gonna be just fine, Hank. He sustained a pretty bad concussion, but he'll recover. We've got him in recovery now. I'll you the truth, we're actually more than a little worried about Mike."_

"I thought you said he was fine."

_"He's fine physically, just some cuts and bruises, but he isn't really taking this too well. He's in Kel's office, just to give him some space. He's pretty shook up. I think a friendly face or two might help him."_

"I'll be right down, and I'll bring Charlie with me. I'm-… We'll be right there. Thanks for the call, Dix."

Hank hung the phone up and sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. Ginny stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, her arm draped protectively over Charlie's shoulders. Charlie's eyes were wide and wet, and Hank was startled to note how much like Chet's they were. She choked, "I heard-… that was Dixie."

"Yes," Hank replied, carefully, "Yes, it was."

Charlie's lip trembled. Honesty is the best policy. _She's a big girl. You don't have to beat around the bush._ Hank gave another sigh, softer this time, and explained, "Mike and Chet are both at Rampart. Mike is alright, but… but Chet was- now he's okay, Dixie said. He's gonna be just fine."

"What happened to my brother?"

He wanted to spare her. He wanted nothing more than for this to all be a dream, for her to not have to suffer anymore. _Remember, Hank, she's a big girl._

"Chet was shot in the leg."

Her legs gave out. Charlie collapsed to her knees, her tears spilling over, sobbing, "No! No, it's not fair! No!" and sucking in wheezing, hiccoughing breaths. Ginny sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Hank's heart broke. He quickly knelt by her and took her face in his hands, telling her, "Charlie… calm down, Charlie. Hey, I said everything was gonna be alright, didn't I? Dixie promised. Chet's gonna be okay. He's okay. Here now, me and Dixie wouldn't lie about something like that, would we? We wouldn't lie to you about your brother. It's gonna be okay, Charlie. Come on, now, just breathe, take some deep breaths… that's it, sweetie, breathe… breathe… there ya go…"

A minute or two passed before Charlie calmed down enough to stand, and Hank led her out to the car so they could go to Rampart. Dixie and Dr. Early greeted them at the emergency station, and Dixie quickly took charge of Charlie, taking her right up to Chet's room.

"How's Mike?" Hank asked the doctor, "Dixie said he wasn't well."

"She's right," Early replied, "He was pretty agitated when he came in with Dwyer. Kept saying it was all his fault, not to mention he's got a fair amount of blood on him that isn't his, most of it Chet's. Some of it might be Pfeffer's, too. I must say, I didn't know Mike was capable of doing that to a man's face."

"Doing what?"

"Breaking it. Sometimes I forget just how strong you firemen really are."

Hank felt his eyebrows rise slightly. _Well, doc, I didn't really think Mike was capable of that myself._

"Uh… where is Mike now, doc?"

"I set him up in Brackett's office. He really needed somewhere quiet to sit and calm down while waiting for an update on Chet. I haven't been in to speak to him yet. You, uh, your company might do him a great deal of good, Hank. He could use a friend."

"But he's alright?"

A tight knot of worry had settled in Hank's stomach. What if Mike wasn't okay? Would he hurt himself?

"He's alright, but… I just want you to expect some uncharacteristic behavior from him. I know he's usually calm and quiet, but this whole ordeal has upset him quite a bit. He might be very emotional, especially since he seems to feel a lot of guilt over what happened."

The knot twisted in Hank's gut as he replied, "I understand, doc. Brackett's office, right?"

"Yup, it's right over here," Early said, leading him over, "You're a good man, Hank."

"I try."

The doctor gave him a smile and left him at the door. Hank took a deep breath.

xXxXx

Mike jumped when the door opened, perhaps more violently than necessary, and waited for the newcomer to announce themselves.

"Hey, Mike," Cap said, "You okay?"

He didn't respond. How could he? What could he say to this man he looked up to and just let down so much? He heard Cap sigh and walk over, the older man sitting in the chair beside him, though he didn't look up. Mike's heart fluttered nastily in his chest. _He's here to tell me he never wants to see me again, that I'm transferred or fired._ A moment passed before Mike noticed he was shivering, his breaths shaky. He waited for Cap to speak.

"Dixie told me Chet's gonna be fine," Cap said quietly, "Did she tell you?"

Mike nodded jerkily, saying nothing. _Yes, but it doesn't mean anything. We wouldn't have to clarify he'll be okay if I didn't get him shot in the first place._ Cap sighed again, quieter, maybe through his nose that time.

"What happened, Mike? Can… can you tell me what happened?"

His stomach churned, and his lip trembled. Cap's voice was so calm and gentle, far gentler than Mike deserved. He should have been yelling, shouting, raging. The words spilled from Mike's mouth in a frantic rush before he could stop them, wanting Cap to know how bad, how unworthy, he felt right now.

"It's all my fault, Cap! If-if it wasn't for me, no-none of this woulda happened! Angie wouldn't've been hurt and Chet wouldn't be hurt and-and-! Please, Cap, I didn't mean for it to happen! I never wanted anyone to-to get hurt, b-but it's still all my fault! Cap, I-! I can't-! I nev-never-!"

His voice was choked off by a sob he forced down. Mike's chest felt painfully tight. It was just so hard to breathe, and no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't get enough air in his lungs. A rushing sound filled his ears, and his vision began to grey at the edges. He felt a pair of strong hands gripping his arms. Cap's voice washed over him, overpowering the rushing, starting to calm him.

"…need to listen to me, Mike," Cap soothed, "okay? You need to listen, and you need to believe me when I tell you none of this is your fault. None of it. You are a victim here, just as much as Chet and Angie, and this is not your fault, Mike. Do you understand?"

Mike throat was burning, his chest still tight, his eyes wet. It was becoming harder and harder to keep from breaking down completely. The hazel eyes looking at him were so full of love and compassion he didn't deserve from a man he'd let down so much.

"I'm sorry, Cap," Mike choked out, "I-I tried to keep him safe. I really tried, bu-but I couldn't-… I-I fucked up, Cap. I'm sor-sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Stop, you don't have anything to be sorry-"

"I do! I failed! I couldn't keep my friends safe and it's my fault because someone was trying to punish me! I put the people I-I love in danger! I almost got Chet killed and-"

"And none of it was your fault!" Cap overrode him, "Mike, no one was in any danger they didn't want to be in. You're so worried about your friends being safe that you forgot we were worried about you, too. This guy wanted to hurt you, to kill you. Now, we care about you, Mike, and we weren't gonna let that happen."

"He-he wanted to kill the people I love," Mike said brokenly, shivering again, "He was gonna kill Chet. He had a gun to his-his head and ev-everything, Cap. I was scared. I was so scared, and-… and-and there was nothing I could do. I had to just-just stand there and listen to Pfeffer and pray he wouldn't blow Chet's brain all over me, and-and then Chet fought him for the gun and got shot and he was bleeding and Pfeffer whacked him in the head with the gun and-and I-… I-I couldn't-…"

Mike stopped himself, his voice becoming hysterical. He looked down at his hands, still covered in Chet's blood. A small whine slipped through his lips. Cap shushed him gently, telling him, "No, Mike, look at me. C'mon, pal, look at me," one of his hands rubbing Mike's arm. Mike's whole body shook.

"L-Look, Chet almost died, Cap. The-the b-blood-"

"You helped save his life. That's what that blood means. You didn't fail anyone, Mike, I mean that. Please, I need you to believe me," Cap said earnestly, "None of us blame you. No one is going to blame you for this. I promise, Mike."

Tears welled in Mike's eyes. He forced down another sob. _Not in front of Cap…_

"Please-…"

xXxXx

Hank could not for the life of him understand why Mike would not accept the forgiveness he was clearly asking for. He had done nothing wrong, nothing to warrant this guilt. Hank kept a protective grip on one of Mike's shaking arms, his other hand running up and down a trembling bicep. He cast his gaze down to Mike's hands. The blood covering them was dry, crusted under his nails and in the little wrinkles. The knuckles of his right hand were burst and red. There were dark brown stains of mostly dried blood on his jeans, and Hank fought back the shiver threatening to creep up his spine. He hated knowing it was Chet's blood all over his engineer. He hated knowing one of his boys was so injured more than anything.

"Mike, please, look at me," he entreated again.

Tear-filled blue eyes finally met his. Mike just looked so miserable. His hair was sticking up at all angles. His face was red and splotchy, his eyes wet and almost glassy. Cap swallowed. _I can't push it now. I can't push him._ Mike was shaking hard, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Cap-…" he choked.

"It's okay, Mike. You're okay… and Chet's okay. He's got Charlie sitting-"

_Not the reaction I was expecting._ Mike shot to his feet and made for the door, crying, "No! I can't see her! I can't-! I have to go! She hates me!"

Hank was lucky he moved fast enough to be beat Mike to the door. He took him by the arms again, trying to steer him away, begging him, "Please, Mike, come on. Sit down. Mike, please sit down. You're all worked up, and you need to calm down. Charlie doesn't hate you. She would never hate you."

"Yes she does! I said I would keep Chet safe and I didn't!"

_That must be it. He made her a promise and feels he didn't keep up his end of the bargain._ Hank steered him back to his chair and got him to sit, taking up the chair across from him and pulling it close.

"You didn't break your promise, Mike," Hank told him softly, "Yes, Chet was hurt, but if it wasn't for you, he might be in much worse shape. You probably saved his life. He's safe now because of you. I need you to understand that."

"You mean that?"

"Yes, I do. We all love you, Mike, and we don't blame you for anything."

He wasn't sure which words exactly did it, but Mike's expression crumpled, a choked sob passing his lips. Mike covered his mouth with the back of his hand at the wrist where there wasn't any blood. A low whine escaped his lips, the sound setting a lump in Hank's throat, and that was that. The cries coming from Mike were heart-wrenching. Hank pulled the younger man into a hug, holding him close, letting him cry into his shoulder. He cradled the back of his head with one hand and rubbed his back soothingly with the other. _Poor guy…_ Mike let out a loud sob, and Hank instinctively squeezed him a little tighter, just wanting to end his grief.

Hank never felt like his men really needed a father figure at the station, so he did his best to avoid acting like one or treating them like children. He'd been through too many captains who let their men get away with too much or were too strict and never allowed any fun at all or talked down to their men like they were particularly stupid children. Hank never wanted to be like that. He wanted to be a mentor, a friend, someone his men could look up to and respect, someone they could come to with a problem. Sometimes, when he was first starting out, he was more lenient, maybe too much so, and he let the men get away a little more just to see if they'd go too far. Things only got truly out of hand once when John pushed Chet too much on the wrong day and got a fist in his face for it, but Hank made damn sure that was the only time.

He knew, of course, that occasionally firemen needed someone to talk to about delicate issues, especially young men, and perhaps Hank was a bit fatherly in that way. He'd been known to offer comfort when needed, like when Chet's mother passed from lung cancer, when Marco was worried about his son being bullied by other kids, when Roy was nearly out of his head with worry over Johnny falling ill with that monkey virus, when Johnny was upset over his policeman friend dying after being hit by a car. Hank could think of no such encounters with Mike, however. Mike was a rock, calm and steady, never excitable or easily panicked. Hank had even gone to him with a trouble or two over the years. _I suppose turnabout's fair play._

Mike cried for a quite a while, just sobbing into Hank's shoulder, his arms trapped uselessly between their bodies. Hank did his best to comfort his friend, gently shushing him and whispering soothing words. He used every trick he could think of that worked on his daughters when they woke from a nightmare or had a bad day at school. He wished there was more he could do for Mike, but it was all he knew.

"You're okay now, Mike," he whispered, "Chet's okay, too. Everything's alright now… everything's fine…"

If a few tears slipped down Hank's face, as well, he supposed that wasn't anyone's business but his and Mike's.

xXxXx

Mike briefly thought he should be embarrassed by his behavior, breaking down and losing it in front of his captain ( _on_ his captain, actually), but he was much too drained to care. Even once he was reduced to quiet hiccoughs and ragged, wet breaths, he stayed in Cap's arms, still needing the physical contact. He was so tired, so upset, so wracked with guilt, so undeserving. The feeling of being held and loved when he didn't believe he should be allowed either was what he needed more than anything, though he didn't want to admit it out loud… especially after hearing what Pfeffer kept calling him and Chet. He shivered involuntarily at the fresh memories and tried to force them from his mind, focusing instead on the strong arms holding him, on their warmth, their gentleness. Mike needed the comfort.

After a while, Cap gently started to pull away, giving Mike enough time to compose himself before having to face his captain again. Mike sniffed loudly, dragging an arm across his face. He noted that Cap's eyes looked a little red but said nothing.

"Cap? Can I-?" Mike muttered hoarsely, "I-I'd like to get washed up."

"Good idea, Mike. We can get those knuckles looked at, too. Don't want you getting sick."

Cap poked his head out, asking for Dr. Early, and the two men led Mike into a treatment room. Cap then headed for the door, saying he was going to call the others, but an irrational fear seized Mike's body. _He can't leave. Pfeffer's out there. He can't go._ He shouted, "No, Cap! Don't go out there!"

"It's alright, Mike," Cap said calmly, "I'll be right back, and I'm just gonna be out in the hall-"

"Cap, please don't go! You'll get hurt!"

Cap opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, saying, "Okay, Mike. I won't go."

Mike felt his face grow hot. He knew it was silly and stupid. Pfeffer was in a secure hospital room, probably tied to the bed. There was no way he would hurt anyone Mike cared about again. _Then why am I so fuckin' scared?_ Early set to work, his ministrations quiet but for brief questions to Mike about how he was feeling. When he finished, he left the two firemen in the treatment room, saying, "It's been a pretty quiet night, so you can stay in here for a little while before you go up to see Chet. Don't hesitate to send for me if you need me."

"Hey, doc? Umm…" Mike asked, "How-? How's Chet? Is he okay?"

"He regained consciousness, but he's not quite coherent just yet. He took a nasty hit to the temple, so we're going to keep him for a day or two just to make sure there aren't any complications, but I'm absolutely confident he'll recover just fine."

Mike nodded, quietly thanking Early as he left. Cap stepped around the table and stood in front of Mike, gripping his shoulders. His brow was knit, care and worry clear in the lines at the corners of his eyes.

"Mike," he said quietly, "I'd like for you to tell me what happened. As much as you can."

Mike pulled in a shaky breath but did as his captain asked, starting with their entering his apartment. He stalled when he got to Pfeffer's assumptions, unsure if he should speak of it.

"It's okay, Mike. You can tell me anything. It won't leave this room. I promise."

"Just-… I dunno, Cap, it was-… Pfeffer made, uh, certain conclusions as to why Chet was with me in my apartment, and he… he was not, uh, not very polite about it."

"How do you mean?"

"He kept calling us-… he kept calling us 'queer' and 'faggot,' Cap."

Cap nodded slightly, his expression of concern unchanged. Mike didn't necessarily object to the assumption he was queer like most people probably would. He and Charlie had actually discussed it once and come to the conclusion that being the way they were about sex made them queer. What truly bothered him was how Pfeffer used the words like curses, spitting them out like he was spitting on Mike and Chet. Queer was hardly the worst thing a person could be. Mike had met a few queer people in his time, and he thought they were just like any other straight person he knew.

"Well," Mike went on, "I- We kinda played along, hopin' maybe we could stall him or somethin', 'course I had no idea what we would do with the time. Pfeffer… he-… he was ready to blow Chet's head off, and- promise you won't tell anyone else? You won't tell the guys?"

"I promise."

"He-… he wanted us to-to say we, uh… to say we loved each other before he killed him."

Cap raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so Mike continued, "S-so we did, and-and then Chet fought with him for the gun and got-got shot and Pfeffer pistol-whipped him and-and-" he drew in a shuddering breath, "-and here we are."

"That sounds pretty scary."

"It was. I was terrified… but Chet…"

Mike paused, thinking carefully, then wet his lips and told Cap, "It's weird… but Chet didn't really seem like he was afraid at all. I mean, at first he did, but I think anyone staring down the barrel of a .38 would be, but there at-at the end, when Pfeffer told us to-… he didn't look scared at all. I-I guess I shoulda known he was plannin' something. He was wound up tighter'n a spring, but I think I thought he was just nervous… until I realized he didn't look nervous or scared at all. It's-… I'm just-…"

He had to force down an unexpected sob, covering his mouth with a now-clean hand. Cap rubbed his arms, his face warm and concerned. Mike explained carefully, "I was so scared, Cap, but-but I wasn't scared for me. I couldn't give a damn if he shot me or not. But… but the thought of him kill-killing Chet-… I couldn't deal with it. It scared me more than anything."

"That makes sense. He's someone you care about."

"But, Cap, I-I told him I love him," Mike choked, "an-and I meant it."

The expression on Cap's face was unreadable, his eyes searching Mike's for a long moment. Mike was terrified he'd just screwed up. _He's gonna leave. He's gonna think the same things Pfeffer did, and he's gonna walk right outta here and leave me alone and get hurt._ Mike's heart started pounding hard, sweat beading on his forehead, and he was shaking again. Cap must've felt him trembling because he pulled him into another hug, wrapping his arms around his engineer, asking, "You said you meant it?"

Mike nodded against his shoulder and mumbled an affirmative. The arms around him tightened a little.

"Good."

Mike buried his face in Cap's shoulder, crying silently, clinging to him like he might disappear at any moment.


	7. To the Very Depths of My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentioned homophobic slurs.

Charlie was grateful to Dixie for being there when she came in. The nurse quickly took her from Cap's side and led her upstairs to Chet's recovery room, speaking to her soothingly the whole time but being truthful about what happened, making sure Charlie was sure of what was going on.

"Now, he's gonna be alright, Charlie," Dixie explained, "but he may not look so great when you see him. He was pistol-whipped and knocked out, and he's still unconscious. I want you to know that he's very lucky. The thigh is a bad place to be shot. You've got your femoral artery in there, the femur, a lot of muscle, and that bullet went clean through without doing a whole lot of damage. It won't be comfortable, but it's the best we could hope for under the circumstances. The head wound and concussion will probably be worse for him, honestly, but there's no reason he won't completely recover in about a month or so. Chet's gonna be just fine."

That was what Dixie was best at, calming people down and reassuring them. Charlie stuck close to the older woman's side, clutching her hand, trying to let her confidence and calm wash over her. While it made Charlie feel a little better, she was still upset, her heart beating too fast to let her calm down entirely. She'd broken down completely in the Stanleys' house when Cap told her what happened, sure that these two men she loved would die. _I don't know what we did to deserve all this, all these bad things that keep happening. Why can't we just catch a break for once?_ She almost cried again when Dixie ushered her into Chet's room.

Chet _looked_ unconscious. Charlie always thought people would just look asleep when they were knocked out like that, but though his eyes were closed there was just something not-right in the way he looked. He was a little too pale for Charlie's liking, his left leg propped up and bare, a white bandage wrapped around it at mid-thigh. Charlie's lip trembled. Dixie must have seen because she pulled Charlie into a hug, saying, "Come on now, Charlie, Chet's gonna be just fine. He's a big, strong fireman, remember? Those guys heal faster than anyone I've ever seen. They're just so damn eager to get back to work I think they make themselves heal faster."

"No, they just don't follow their doctor's orders and push through the pain before they're actually done healing, is all," Charlie replied thickly, "They're too damn stubborn."

"Oh, I believe me, I know all about the stubbornness of firemen. Here, you just sit here with Chet, and I'll go check on Mike."

"How is he? Was he hurt?"

"Well, Mike wasn't hurt… but he isn't really okay, either. He was pretty shook up when he came in with Dwyer. I think Hank's with him now, and hopefully a friendly face and some kind words'll help him. I'll be sure to send him up when he's ready."

"Promise?"

"I promise, Charlie. See you later. Oh, and if anyone tries to kick you out, tell 'em they'll have to answer to me, okay?"

Charlie smiled, but it faded as soon as Dixie was gone. She sniffed loudly and sat in the chair by Chet's bed, reaching out to lay her hand on his.

"C'mon, Chet, ya lazy bastard, wake up," she told him, trying to sound teasing but not quite succeeding, "I'm not gonna be able to sleep for a week, so it's no fair you get to sleep now."

" 'm no' s'eepin'…"

Unfocused, groggy blue eyes looked at Charlie from under heavy lids, and Chet's lips quirked in a tired, lazy smile. Charlie's heart soared. She squeezed his hand, saying, "That's good. I don't wanna have to tell Cap you're layin' down on the job."

"Is Cap 'ere?"

"Yes, he's downstairs, Dixie said."

Chet's brow knit in confusion, and he asked, "Why's 'e d'nstairs?"

"He's sitting with Mike, I think, and then they'll come up to see you."

Chet still looked confused, his eyes darting to and fro, as if he were desperately trying to remember something. Tears filled his eyes without warning and spilled down his cheeks. His hand flew up to his mouth, and he let out a choked, "Oh, god, 's Mike okay?"

"Dixie said he's okay-"

"No, Pfeffer had a gun! He was gonna shoot me an' then kill Mike, too! Did 'e hurt Mike? D-Did Mike get hurt? I hafta go-"

He struggled to get up, but Charlie forced him down as best she could, thankfully stronger than her heavily concussed, drugged-up brother. She spoke over him, saying, "Mike's okay. He's not hurt. Pfeffer didn't hurt him. Dixie promised."

His blue eyes were wide and wild and still unfocused, but at least he stopped moving. He slurred thickly, "Dixie prom'sed?"

"Yes, she did. Would Dix lie about that?"

Chet seemed to think about it very hard for a moment. The tension bled from his muscles all at once, and he slumped back into his pillows, muttering, "Good… tha's good… didn' wan' 'im to get hurt… See… see, I love the guy, an'… an' I told 'im so… 'm glad he's-… good he's okay…"

He drifted off to sleep again, and Charlie didn't try to make sense of his words. He was concussed and confused and not talking sense. _He looks like he's sleeping now. He looks kinda peaceful and resting. That's good._ She didn't let of his hand until Dixie came in with Cap, saying, "Hank's gonna sit with your brother for a minute. Mike wants to see you, if you want. There's an empty room next door you can use for a bit."

Charlie slowly rose from her chair and followed Dixie, taking a deep breath when they stopped outside the door. When Cap told her what had happened, her initial grief and shock was certainly for her brother, but similar feelings for Mike were not far behind. They were the two people she cared for most in the world. Losing one or both would destroy her, of that she was almost certain, and the potential for that to happen had been high that evening. Tears filled her eyes as she pushed open the door.

Mike lifted his gaze from his wringing hands. He looked rumpled and disheveled and so utterly miserable, but damn if he wasn't alive. For the second time in Rampart's walls, Charlie threw herself into Mike's arms, wrapping her arms around his neck. He caught her, holding her around the waist and pressing a few kisses along the line of her jaw before burying his face in her shoulder.

"Mike, I was so worried," she mumbled, "so scared… when I heard you and Chet were here-"

"I know… I know… I was scared, too. I don't ever think I've been so scared in my whole life as when I saw Chet-… I-I was so scared he was gonna die and there'd be nothing I could do to help him," he choked, "I didn't-… I-I couldn't let him die…"

Charlie kissed the corner of his mouth, and he pulled back enough to press his lips to hers before burying his face in her shoulder once more, crying softly. Charlie swallowed down her own tears as he shook in her arms. _Chet's alive, and Mike's alive. They're both gonna be fine. You don't have to cry now. It's okay._ Mike was hunched over to hold her, almost painfully so it seemed to her, so Charlie carefully pulled away and made him sit in a chair before hugging him again. His face was half pressed against her shoulder and half against her chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck again, letting her fingers slide through his hair and graze his scalp. He held her close about the waist and hips, trembling against her. Charlie thought perhaps Mike would be crying harder if he weren't exhausted from already having cried, and she held him a little tighter.

She shushed him gently, whispering, "It's okay. You're alright now, Mike. I've got you. Everything's alright. You're safe here with me. Everything's fine… we're safe…" still stroking his hair while his breaths hitched and jumped. A minute or two passed before Mike pulled back slightly, not loosening his grip on Charlie. She carefully took his face in her hands and eased it up to look at her. His cheeks were pink and splotchy and wet, his eyes red and almost glassy, and he just looked miserable. Charlie brushed some of the errant tears away, smiling serenely, then leaned and pressed her lips to Mike's for a long moment. When she pulled back, she told him, "Thank you."

His eyebrows drew together slightly, and he asked, "What for?"

"You saved my big brother. What else? And when Chet wakes up again, I'm gonna thank him for saving you, too."

Mike said nothing, obviously confused, so Charlie continued, "If Chet hadn't been there, maybe you'd be dead. Maybe Pfeffer woulda given up on trying to hurt people you care about and woulda just killed you right then and there. If you hadn't been there, like if Chet woulda just went by himself, maybe he'd be dead right now. Look, I don't know what happened there. Maybe one day the two of you will tell me, or one or the other of you. Maybe neither one of you will ever want to tell me. But I know almost for a fact that the two of you saved each other tonight… so thank you, Mike. Thank you so much.

"Now, come on. I know Chet's gonna want to see you when he wakes up. He almost jumped outta bed when I mentioned your name. Wanted to be sure you weren't hurt and that you were okay."

Charlie gave Mike a moment to compose himself, let wipe at his face and get his breathing vaguely back to normal before helping him to his feet. She twined their fingers together, leading him into her brother's recovery room. Cap stood when they came in, rising from the chair Charlie had previously vacated. Chet was snoring softly.

"You feelin' better, pal?" Cap asked Mike, who shrugged in response as he sat down.

Cap accepted it and stepped out of Charlie's way, giving her the chair back and retrieving another for himself. Charlie pulled her chair closer to Mike's and took Chet's hand again, still clutching Mike's in her own.

xXxXx

Chet woke to a nurse's prodding in (what he presumed was) the middle of the night and was asked a bunch of silly questions like what year it was and who was president and plenty of others he would have trouble answering having just woken up on any other day of the week; he managed to answer properly. He decided to stay awake for a bit, even though his head was pounding. He felt groggy and tired, but he wanted to look around. Charlie was snoring quietly in a chair beside him, her head resting on her folded arms. Chet smiled. They'd need armed police to get her outta here. His little sister's presence was expected. Mike's was not. The older man must've pretended to be asleep while the nurse was there, but he was wide awake now, gazing at Chet in the dim light of the hospital room, his blue eyes strangely bright. For a long moment, all they did was look at each other.

"You, uh… you okay, Chet?" Mike queried softly.

" 'm fine," he replied, "Never better, babe…"

Mike's gaze fluttered briefly. Chet wet his lips and asked, "Umm… can you… can you tell me-tell me wha' happened 'zactly? 'm kinda fuzzy still…"

"How much do you remember?"

"No' much… jus' bits an' pieces mos'ly…"

"Why don't-… How about you tell me what you remember, and maybe I can fill in the blanks? Okay?"

"Well, I 'member lookin' down a-a .38… 'member… 'member Pfeffer smacked a few times an'-an' called me a-a fag and a-a queer… an' then I got a bullet through m-my leg, an' tha's all I 'member."

He averted his eyes from Mike's and wet his lips again, slightly embarrassed by his slurring words and feeling a bit nauseous. One of Mike's hands rested on the blanket between the Kelly siblings, close to Chet's.

"Hey… hey, wha' happened to your hand? Looks bus-bus'ed…"

"Yeah, see… See, Pfeffer whacked ya in the head with the revolver after he shot you," Mike explained, sounding a little sheepish, "Well, I took offense to that, and I-I kinda lost it. I mighta rearranged his face for him… and knocked out a couple teeth…"

He made a fist, flexing the burst knuckles, and Chet's stomach gave an odd flop he didn't think was connected with his nausea.

"Kicked his ass to 'venge me, huh? 'm touched, babe, really I am… he was an asshole…"

Chet felt his lip trembling. _Oh no, I forgot about the fuckin' mood swings concussions can give ya…_ Tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He sniffed loudly, wiping at his face. Mike stood, reaching out for him. Chet flinched, though he wasn't sure why, and Mike froze.

" 'm sorry," Chet mumbled, uselessly wiping away his tears, "I jus'… he was a-a real asshole, talkin' to us th' way he did. Why'd he hafta do that, Mike?"

"I don't know, Chet," Mike replied, "I guess-… I guess he's just hateful. He had a lot of time in prison to think about it and wallow and maybe-… well, I suppose he's just hateful, Chet…"

Chet nodded but couldn't stop his tears. _Why can't I stop crying?_ His stomach rolled violently, and it must've showed in his face because Mike quickly retrieved a nearby bucket and shoved it into his hands. Bile burned up his throat, and he heaved forcefully, emptying his stomach into the bucket. His head throbbed painfully and, combined with the vomiting, kept his tears flowing. At some point, Mike took control of the bucket, holding steady while Chet heaved, his other hand in Chet's tight grip. The effort of vomiting and the sharp, throbbing pain in his head left Chet sobbing weakly.

"What's wrong, Chet?" Mike asked quickly, "Do you need me to get a nurse?"

He wanted to say no. He wanted to pretend he was alright… but he couldn't. Chet nodded enough to be seen, and Mike hurried out of the room, calling for a nurse. The commotion finally woke Charlie, who took Chet's hand, letting him squeeze it though he worried he was about to break every bone in her hand. A nurse came in and injected something into Chet's IV. The pain ebbed away, and he slipped back into sleep. His last groggy thought was that he hoped he hadn't hurt Charlie.

Daylight was pouring in when he woke again, blinking in the sunlight. His stomach rolled but not as bad as the night before. Chet moaned and rubbed at his face, forcing his eyes open. Mike and Charlie were nowhere to be found, but there was Marco sitting at his bedside, wearing a tired smile. Chet felt pressure on his hand and looked down. A warm, rough brown hand was holding his and squeezing gently. Chet squeezed back weakly.

"Hey, Marco… howzit?" he greeted him.

"I should be asking you that question, amigo," Marco replied, "You're the one who's hurt."

"Well, 'm still a 'lil sick… and my head hurts, but other than that, 'm pretty good, I guess. You okay? How long've you been here?"

"Not very long. It's… two now. I got here about one-thirty and sent Mike and Charlie to get some lunch. I just-… well, Cap called last night, and I, uh, I didn't sleep very well."

" 'Cause you're a worrier, Marco. You worry enough for everyone on shift."

"Someone has to, or you and John would probably be dead twelve times over."

He winced at his own words, and Chet gave his hand another squeeze, stronger this time.

"They let me sleep at least," Chet said, trying to lighten his friend's mood, "Kep' wakin' me up before that, like every hour, askin' all kinds of questions to make sure my brain works right…"

He purposely left himself open to a jab about his brain never working right, but Marco remained quiet. _My pal Marco. Professional worrier, hugger… he's a crier, too. He's good at hiding it, but he's a crier._ Marco sniffed, wiping at his face with his free hand. _Yup, there it is._ Chet always believed it was an unwritten rule that all firemen were big softies, whether they were open about it or not. They had to be. They dealt with frightened, injured people every day. They rescued children and pets. A hard man couldn't do that. A hard man couldn't hold a little boy and calm him as he cried for his parents still trapped inside a wrecked car or run back into a burning house to save a girl's dog. A hard man couldn't patiently administer oxygen to a kitten or a bird to make sure an old lady's constant companion would be okay or comfort an old man whose wife was being taken to the hospital, maybe for the last time. Firemen could be hard and tough on the outside, but all were at least a little soft on the inside.

Marco was definitely all soft, gooey marshmallow on the inside, and it was one of the reasons Chet liked him so much. As Marco's partner, he was around the man more often than not, so he was afforded a closer look at his life. Sometimes, after a really bad run, he and Marco would sit by themselves, separating from the rest of the group as John and Roy often did, and Chet would fall silent and allow his friend to vent. There would be some tears, usually from Marco but sometimes from Chet, too, but it was what they needed when they felt they failed.

"Hey, c'mon, Marco… 'm okay," Chet told him quietly, "Ev'rything's okay now…"

Marco nodded and sniffed again, saying nothing. Chet's stomach rolled again, and he closed his eyes against the nausea, focusing on the warmth of Marco's hand and murmuring, " 'm okay, Marco…"

" _Si, mi manito,_ I know… but you almost died. That guy almost killed you, Chet."

"Nah… he jus' pointed a gun at me. 'sides, I didn' survive 'Nam to get shot by some crazy asshole in Mike's apartment. C'mon, Marco, cheer up, babe."

His eyes were still closed, so he couldn't see if Marco's expression changed or not. _Probably not. Softie, remember?_ He chanced opening them up and was pleased to note the nausea wasn't as bad as he thought. Marco never let go of his hand. Chet gave it another small squeeze, experimentally running his thumb over the back of Marco's hand. It was a warm tan, rough and scarred from years of hard work. _I shouldn't be doing this. This isn't what friends do. Maybe… maybe we're different, though. Maybe we're allowed._ It was hard sometimes, being alone in this line of work. Even when men were married, there were still problems occasionally. Chet didn't have many friends outside of work, and he hadn't had a steady girlfriend since his mother died in '71. Living with his sister now helped for the most part, and she was good company, someone who was willing to listen to the bad things that happened on a shift. Sometimes, though, he needed to talk to someone he worked with, someone who really understood what it was like.

Pfeffer's words flooded back, full of hate. _Queer and faggot… that's what he called us… like it was the worst thing a fella could ever be._ He almost pulled his hand away from Marco's but stopped, though Marco must've felt him move.

"Everything okay, Chet? You need something?"

"Yeah… yeah, 'm fine… jus' thinkin' about what happened an' all…"

"Can you-… do you wanna talk about it?" Marco asked.

"Wha's there to talk 'bout? Whacko held me at gunpoint and called me names, then he shot me an' pistol-whipped me," Chet replied, "Pretty simple really."

"Called you names? What names?"

_Shit, I mentioned that? Didn't even realize it._ He turned his gaze on Marco's, blue eyes meeting rich brown. _This is my partner, my friend. I can trust him with anything._ Chet wet his lips, jumping slightly when he realized he was still holding Marco's hand.

"It's alright, _manito_ , you can tell me."

Chet took a deep breath.

xXxXx

Marco listened intently as Chet wove the story for him with lightly slurred words. He explained how they walked into the apartment and he found himself staring down a .38 revolver.

"You must've been scared," Marco commented, wanting him to open up.

"Oh, I was at first… I mean, 's scary shit. I 'member thinkin' it was good I used the bathroom 'fore we left my place, but… I dunno, after a 'lil while, I wasn' scared anymore. I jus' knew I had to make sure Mike was safe… 'cause I promised Cap I would… an' Charlie… I couldn' let 'em down. 'sides, you guys need Mike more'n ya need me…"

Marco held back his retort of Chet's importance for another time, instead saying, "Hey, keep talkin', Chet. You said this _pendejo_ was callin' you and Mike names. What did he say?"

Chet wet his lips, looking away from Marco and down at their joined hands. His eyes were wet, a shimmering blue. Marco waited patiently, squeezing his friend's hand for support.

"He… he kep' callin' us… callin' us shit li-like 'fag' an-and 'queer'… He, uh… I guess he thought me an' Mike were-were together," Chet admitted softly, his grip tightening, " He was jus' so mean an-an' awful, an'… he was sayin' how we disgust him, talked about us like we were the scum of the earth or somethin'… Then… he made us tell each other goodbye an-an' m-made us- you gotta promise not to laugh."

Chet looked at him with wide frightened eyes filled with tears.

"I promise," Marco told him solemnly.

"Well, he thought me an' Mike were together, 'member? So… so, he was gonna shoot me an'-" Chet sniffed loudly, his voice thick, "he told us to-… he made us say goodbye an-an' that we loved each other before he did it, an' Marco-!"

A choked sob slipped past his lips, tears finally spilling down his cheeks. Marco carefully stood and pulled his friend into a hug, cradling his head gently. _I'm sorry, Chet. I'm so sorry you have to go through this. I'm sorry things keep going wrong in your life. Lo siento, mi manito._ Marco held him close while he cried, "He was gonna shoot me, Marco! He was gonna kill me!" and wept into the older man's shoulder. He did his best to comfort his friend, murmuring soothingly, "You're okay, Chet. _Ahora estás a salvo. Ya te tengo_ , Chet. Just breathe. You're alright. You're right here with me."

Marco was the first to admit (though maybe not in public) that he was a fairly emotional guy. Maybe it came from being fourth of seven children and wanting his parents' precious attention or from being one of nearly two dozen cousins contending for the attention of his dearest abuela. Crying was a good way to get attention when he was very young, and he supposed the emotional response just stuck. Now, he didn't spend the whole day in tears, of course, or he would never get any work done. No, when the situation called for it, he just needed to vent a little, and when this happened, Chet was always there for him. Chet would quietly sit by and let Marco get it all out, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in close. There they would sit, and if the shift was really and truly awful, Chet would cry a little, too, though it didn't happen often.

He'd only seen Chet cry like this once before, when his mother was dying of cancer. Chet and John had gotten into a fight after John, still upset over something done to him a few weeks ago, kept poking at Chet, who was distressed over his mother's illness. Marco had worried they would both be in serious trouble, but Cap decided they just needed a good talking to and to be sent home. Marco had hung around until Chet was ready to go, when the younger man asked to sit with him in his van for a minute or two. Chet had broken down almost immediately upon getting in his van, sobbing loudly and heavily. Marco was shocked when Chet told him what was happening. He hadn't told anyone anything about it before that day.

Chet was crying like that this time. He was shaking in Marco's arms, his shoulders heaving and jumping as he sobbed. _Guess it finally caught up with him._ Marco just held him, still cradling his head, fingers gently pushing through his hair and rubbing at his scalp. A few minutes passed before Chet stopped sobbing, but he made no effort to pull away from his friend's embrace. Marco didn't let go, either. If anything, Chet seemed to press closer.

"I was so scared, Marco," Chet muttered against his shoulder, "I was really scared."

"It's okay. I woulda been scared, too."

"It wasn'-… I wasn' really scared f-for me, though… I jus' couldn' let anything happen to Mike. I didn' wan' him to get hurt, so I tried to fight Pfeffer for the gun, and that's when I got shot, I guess. I jus'… he kep' pushin' us to say somethin' to each other, to talk to each other before he-he shot me, and we kinda figured out that's what he meant, what he wanted us to say… I was kinda freaked out at first, but… Mike was so scared, Marco, an' I had to help him somehow. Then… then when I said it… I wasn' lyin', Marco. I meant it. I love him. I love all you guys."

Marco's stomach gave a small flop and something tightened in his chest. A smile crept onto his face. He gave Chet a squeeze, telling him quietly, "I've never doubted it. None of us have… and we all love you, Chet. Never forget it, okay? You're _muy importante_ to me, to all of us. I want you to remember that, Chet."

"I will," he replied solemnly, his words muffled slightly by Marco's shoulder, "I promise, Marco."

Marco's arms tightened a little more.

"Good."


	8. As I Was and Really Would Be for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little delayed. I finally had my thesis defense this past week, and I am proud to say I passed! I wanted to get a chapter up before I dug too deep into my revisions and then go on vacation next week.
> 
> Warnings: mild language, close platonic male friendship, nightmares, healing wounds.

Chet was released from the hospital a few days after the Event at Mike's apartment (Charlie had her Incident, Chet and Mike had their Event), though he wasn't able to go back to work for another month due to his concussion and the hole through his leg. Charlie could well remember the days immediately following the Incident, when all she could feel was guilt and fear and anxiety. Knowing her brother and his friends were there made all the difference in helping her feel safe and whole again. She hoped she could do the same for them now.

Chet seemed largely okay, but that's what he was good at: pretending he was okay. He tended to jump at loud noises, and his irritability and mood swings from the concussion remained for about a week after the initial injury. He was generally cheerful and optimistic, joking about picking up women with his new scar and a cool story and about how he had to come back to LA to get shot when he had been in the middle of a perfectly good war for two years. There were some nightmares, though, just like Charlie had, just like he'd had when he returned from Vietnam. They were less frequent, but they were just as bad.

The nightmares came with screaming and crying, Chet clutching at his injured leg like it would fall off, like it was on fire from the inside and the pain was killing him. Charlie would sit with him, hugging him close, soothing his fears. She hated to leave him when she had to work midnights at dispatch, but Chet assured her it was alright and that he was a big boy and could take care of himself. She was glad there was no tension between them on that account, for there easily could be. What really helped was Mike basically moving in with them.

Mike was back at work not long after the Event. He'd had that emotional episode at Rampart, but he was cleared for duty by the department shrink, and all the guys said he was fine at work. He slept through the night at the station. His behavior was unchanged from what it was before. Chet and Charlie, however, reported much different results.

Mike's nightmares were much like Chet's, not so much about what happened as what might have happened. He would wake in the middle of the night with a cry of Chet's name and tears ready to fall. Charlie would be awake right there with him and wrap her arms around him. She ran her fingers through his hair, pressed gentle kisses to the back of his neck, rubbed his chest, murmured soothing words. Sometimes that worked, lulling him back into sleep. Sometimes it merely calmed him while he stayed awake the rest of the night.

_That's the only time he seems to wanna be near me, though…_ Mike was pulling away from her, slowly but surely, like a ship unanchored drifting out to sea. She couldn't understand. He loved being near her. He always wanted to stand close to her and hold her hand and hold her and now-… _When I touch him now, he acts like he got shocked… and he hasn't kissed me since we saw each other at Rampart._ The kisses they shared were never long or involved, but they were perfect to Charlie, each and every little peck full of love. If he weren't staying with her and Chet, Charlie suspected Mike wouldn't see her at all. She couldn't take it anymore.

Charlie confronted Mike one afternoon about three weeks after the Event. Chet was camping with John for the weekend, and Mike and Charlie just so happened to have that weekend off. He was seated on the couch, listening to the TV and thumbing through an old paperback, still in only his shorts and t-shirt. Charlie was still in her own pajamas, as well, an old t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. They'd been occupying the same space for a few hours, and he'd barely spoken three words to her in that time.

His blue eyes were wide, blinking up at her as she took the paperback from his hands and laid it on the couch beside him. In a move that was at once bold and graceful and decided upon on the spot, she climbed onto the couch and straddled him, draping her arms around his neck. His face turned an impressive shade of pink, but he didn't move.

"Mike, what's goin' on with you?" she asked seriously, "Ever since Chet came home from the hospital, you've been avoiding me. The only time you wanna be near me it seems is when you're having a nightmare or trying to sleep. I-… I thought we were something, but you don't wanna be near me anymore. Why?"

He averted his eyes, muttering, "I-… I-I don't deserve you, Charlie. Not by a long shot."

"That's absurd. What could possibly make you think that?"

"Chet was hurt because of me," he replied, "Everything that happened was my fault. Pfeffer-… he might've hurt you, too, Charlie. What if he decided to kill Chet and then hunt you down? He could've hurt you or killed you. What if that happened?"

"Well, if he woulda killed me, then I'd just be dead," she answered.

"I'm serious. If he'd've hurt you, I'd never have forgiven myself."

"Seems to me like you won't forgive yourself as it is, Mike."

He finally looked up at her again, meeting her eyes, but didn't reply. Charlie continued, "We don't blame you. Not for anything that happened. But you've been blamin' yourself since this whole thing began. None of this is your fault, Mike. It's Pfeffer's. Just like what happened to me wasn't my fault. This was a freak thing no one could've foreseen. Please, I'm beggin' you, Mike, stop feeling like this was all your fault because-… shit, because I just can't stand seeing you like this anymore."

"I can't," he responded quietly, thickly, "It-It's just too hard. I can't find a reason to forgive myself when it all still feels like my fault."

Charlie was struck by the fact that Mike had looked constantly sad and borderline miserable since Chet came home from Rampart. She hadn't seen him smile once, not once in almost three weeks. The words came tumbling out before she could even think.

"I love you, Mike, isn't that reason enough?"

He blinked at her, and she blinked back, still in disbelief that she actually said it. _In for a penny in for a pound…_

"I-I mean it," she told him quietly, "When I heard you and Chet were in Rampart, I thought the worst. I thought maybe you were both seriously hurt, that you'd both been shot or beaten or something horrible, thought you were both gonna die for sure. When I broke down crying in Cap's house, it was because I was sure I was gonna lose the two people I love most in the world.

"Mike Stoker, I love you more than anything, and I'm sick of you pulling away from me 'cause you don't think you deserve me or my love. I'm not expecting miracles. I remember how it is. It's just-… I don't want you to distance yourself from something that may help you. Please… I love you so much."

She absolutely loved him. She would tell him a dozen times more, a hundred more, if it meant he would stop blaming himself. Mike finally moved, bringing his hands up to settle on her waist, and she reveled in the touch of the broad palms. She would tell him a thousand times more if that's what it took.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, Charlie," he said softly, almost a whisper, "but I wish I did so I could do it a thousand times over. I-… it was just so scary, the whole thing. I was scared for me, for Chet, for you. I was scared what Pfeffer might do to you, scared of what it would do to you if me and Chet died. I was so scared you'd be hurt, and I can't stand to think about you being hurt, Charlie… and I love you, too… more than I ever knew I could."

Charlie's heart almost beat out of her chest, soaring with euphoria. Warmth shot through her body, joy itself carried in her veins. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his, delighted to feel their touch again. When she went to pull away, he followed, capturing her lips once more and moving his against them, wrapping his arms around her waist. One of his hands slid up to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. She smiled against his lips, breathing the smell of his soap and his clean clothes, running her fingers through his hair. Charlie's stomach was in joyous knots, her heart fluttering excitedly. She gave his lip a quick nip, then gently sucked on it as if to soothe it. He moaned quietly, and his fingers twitched against her body, pulling her in closer.

They pulled away after a few moments, both breathless, resting their foreheads together.

"I love you, Charlie," Mike murmured, his arms wrapped around her small frame, "I mean it, I love you so much."

She hummed in agreement, replying, "And I love you, too, Mike. More than anything."

He kissed her again. There was a sharp pinch on her butt, causing her to jump and yelp and break contact with Mike's lips. Mike let out a bark of laughter, and Charlie was so happy to hear it she couldn't be mad. She gave him a half-hearted swat and kissed him, complaining, "That's not fair. I can't reach your butt. You're sitting on it."

He laughed again.

xXxXx

Mike had never been more confused in his life, of this he was sure. He did love Charlie very much. There was no confusion there, at least, but everything else…

He slept fine at the station, just like before. He could go to sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow and not wake up for anything. He slept well, too. There were no dreams or nightmares at the station, no anxiety to plague his slumber or make it impossible for him sleep. This was not so in the Kelly apartment. Charlie, thankfully, was there for him, there to soothe his fears and nightmares, and he absolutely, unequivocally loved her with his entire being.

There was something in him, though, that craved the attention and acceptance and forgiveness (and even the comfort) of Chet. Mike was quite certain he didn't want to kiss Chet, didn't love or need him like he did Charlie, but it was Chet who was most hurt by Mike's problem. He supposed he just wanted to be sure he was forgiven.

Chet, for his part, was more than willing to help Mike. He constantly reassured Mike that he didn't blame him for what happened, and the reassurance was constant because no matter how often Chet said it, Mike couldn't quite believe it. He probably should have believed it when Chet and Charlie offered to let him stay with them when he found he simply couldn't go back to his own apartment. The blood was gone and the bullet holes in the wall had been patched, but even though the whole Event had only lasted maybe twenty minutes, the memories wouldn't leave. He could still see Chet held at gunpoint and Chet bleeding on the carpet and Pfeffer's horrible bloody grin and- no. He could not live there anymore. He could barely spend more than half an hour in there before panic began to set in. Chet was being much too good to him.

Not quite two weeks after Chet's release from the hospital, they were alone in the apartment while Charlie worked a midnight. Mike was out on the couch when Chet limped out of his room. Mike looked up upon hearing him. He couldn't take his eyes off Chet's wounded leg, not even when he was right in front of him.

"Mike, it's almost three in the morning. Why aren't you asleep?" Chet asked.

He shrugged, "Couldn't sleep, is all."

"It's more than that. Marco said you sleep fine at the station, just like before. C'mon, talk to me, babe."

Something twisted in Mike's chest.

"Why do you keep callin' me that?"

"What?"

"Babe. You keep callin' me that."

"I call everybody that, Mike. You know that," Chet replied, "Besides, you're tryin' to change the subject and get outta talkin' about the real problem here. And don't lie to me because I know there is a real problem here."

The younger man eased himself down onto the couch beside Mike with a wince, carefully propping his leg up on the cheap coffee table.

"You keep starin' at it like it's gonna fall off."

Mike couldn't shift his gaze even after being called out on it. _That's my fault. That happened because of me._ Tears blurred at the edge of his vision. Chet scoffed quietly and lifted his hips, sliding his sweatpants down over his shorts to his knees. On his left thigh, there was a bald patch in the dark hair surrounding a red scar. Mike's breath caught in his throat, and he snapped his eyes shut, unable to stomach looking at it. A hand took Mike's bicep in a strong grip. Chet's voice was in his ear, "Open your eyes, Mike. Look at it."

"I-I can't."

"Why not? It's just a scar."

"It's not. Chet, please-"

Chet shook his arm, telling him, "Dammit, just look at it! Come on now, open your eyes!"

"No!"

"Why not?" he insisted.

"Because it's my fault!" Mike shouted, finally opening his eyes but only looking at Chet's face.

"No, it's not," Chet told him after a moment, his voice firm yet gentle, "How is it your fault? Did you pull the trigger, huh? Did you shoot me? Did you knock me out?"

"No, I would never-"

"I know. C'mon now, I've told you already. I don't blame you for anything. The thought never even crossed my mind to say any of this was your fault. If anything, I'm glad I did what I did, glad that he hurt me and not you. If he woulda hurt you, that woulda been my fault for not keeping you safe when that was why I was there."

"No, it wouldn't've. It wouldn't've been your fault. Don't say that."

"Then why are you so damn convinced it's your fault?"

His grip on Mike's arm had gentled, and Mike cast his gaze down at his own lap, avoiding Chet's wound. Chet gave him a little squeeze, saying, "Just look at it, Mike. It's not that bad."

Slowly, Mike lifted his gaze. _Chet has to look at it every day. I should look now. I owe him that much._ The wound was a bullseye of healing scar tissue, pale skin, and dark stubble. The scar itself was angry red and still a little inflamed, and it was indented a bit like someone took a scoop out of the flesh. Mike imagined the exit scar was worse. He'd always heard they were. This was ten days after Chet's release from the hospital, two weeks after he was shot, and he was still limping heavily, though he abandoned his cane whenever possible. He was going to physical therapy three days a week for his thigh muscles damaged in the shooting, and while it seemed to be helping, he still had plenty of recovery to go. _They said he was lucky. Inside of the thigh, and the bullet would've hit the femoral artery and he would've bled to death. Center of the thigh would've shattered the femur and he might never have worked again._ Mike's fingers twitched, like he secretly wanted to touch it, but he abstained.

"Now, is that your fault? Did you do that to me, Mike?" Chet asked quietly.

"N-No. Pfeffer shot you. Pfeffer did it."

"Exactly. You didn't do anything. It's not your fault."

"I shoulda done more to help you, Chet," Mike muttered, "I-I shoulda fought him or-"

"Then we'd probably both be dead now. You have any experience fightin' a guy with a gun?" Chet asked, and when Mike shook his head, he continued, "Exactly. He woulda just shot you dead, Mike. They taught us how in Basic, and we're both damn lucky I remembered what I learned. If you woulda fought him, you just woulda got yourself killed."

"You could've done the same."

Chet shrugged. His hand had never left Mike's arm. They sat like that for a long moment. _Chet's alive. He's right here. He's alive and beside me and getting better and he'll be back at work in less than a month now and everything's alright. Everything's fine. Everything's alright…_ The younger man spoke up, "Come on, let's go to bed. I'm beat from PT today."

"Yeah… you go ahead. I'll head in in a minute."

"Well, I need help gettin' up."

Mike stood and took Chet's hands, helping ease him to his feet. A small grunt escaped Chet's lips, and he leaned heavily on Mike.

"You okay, Chet? What's wrong?"

"Just need a minute… leg hurts… think it cramped up a little… just- _ngh_ -just gimme a minute…"

Chet shook finely, gripping Mike's hands tightly, his sweatpants still hanging at his knees. A long minute passed before Chet blew out a shaky breath, his grip loosening and his figure slumping.

"Sorry… just havin' a bad night, I guess."

"That why you woke up? You take your pain meds before bed?"

"Nah, I don't like 'em. I don't sleep right when I take 'em," Chet muttered ruefully.

Mike sighed through his nose but decided not to reprimand him. He simply said, "Alright, here, lemme help you into your room. Let's get those sweats back up… there ya go… C'mon, just lean on me…"

Chet barely put weight on his wounded leg as they went back into his bedroom. Mike helped him into bed, pulling the covers up over him. He made to leave, and Chet asked, "Are you really gonna go to bed now?"

Mike turned and saw the blue eyes peering at him in the dim light from the streetlamp outside. He replied, "Probably not."

"How come?"

"Honestly? I-… I'm scared. I don't like being alone," Mike answered quietly, "It's different at the station because everybody's there. I know that if something would happen, they're all there for me. Here… I dunno… I'm-I'm just scared."

"Well, you're not alone here. I'm only a room away."

"It's not just me I'm scared for."

His voice was so low he was barely aware he spoke at all. Chet sighed, just staring at him for several seconds. He then grabbed the covers and threw them back, saying, "Then just sleep here tonight, Mike. I promise not to snore too loud or kick, and I won't tell if you won't. I just want you to sleep."

"I could say the same to you."

"Good. Then come here and go to sleep so I can sleep, too. Now, I already told ya, I'm beat."

Mike balked at first. Men didn't share a bed. They just didn't unless they were together. He recalled the abuse hurled at them by Pfeffer. _Is queer really the worst thing a person can be? Can't two guys be friends without fear of someone trying to beat the shit out of them for being gay?_ He imagined Chet over in Vietnam and the closeness he must've had with the men he worked with, an intimacy developed during times of fear and boredom and grief and exhaustion. How often had the men of 51 formed a little pile after working a hard shift at a brush fire, exhausted by the heat and exertion? How often had they leaned on each other or stood too close following a harrowing run, wanting to be sure the men they cared about were safe, were there with them, were so wonderfully alive?

Chet was his friend, one of his closest friends. He could trust Chet, and Chet could trust him. Mike stepped up and carefully got into the bed beside Chet, who muttered something suspiciously like, "Finally…" and settled further into bed. Both managed to sleep into mid-morning without a nightmare… though that's not to say they never happened. Mike had a particularly dreadful one not too long after that first look at Chet's scar.

They were in Chet's apartment, and somehow Pfeffer had escaped jail. He was in the apartment, grinning evilly. His face looked like it did when Mike was done pummeling it the day Chet was shot, covered in blood and split in places and blood in his mouth. He was back, waving another gun, jabbering on about revenge and queers and retards and every other hateful thing he'd ever said or could say. He was holding Chet hostage again, and Mike was begging for him to let the man go. Pfeffer only laughed, crazed and grotesque. He wouldn't shut up, either, his voice ringing, deafening, almost shrill.

Pfeffer did not let Chet go. He shot him. He shot him right in the thigh again, this time clean through from one side to another. Chet's scream was horrible and strangled. It cut right to Mike's heart and soul. He screamed in response, all but diving to the floor beside his friend. Pfeffer seemed to disappear into smoke, there one second and gone the next, his awful laughter still echoing around them. Blood poured from Chet's leg, gushing in time with his pulse. They both struggled to cover the wounds, to keep the precious blood inside Chet's body, and Mike prayed someone else had called the police. The police would come with paramedics, and the medics would save Chet. They had to. He told Chet so.

Eyes the color of a cloudy sky stared up at him, wide and wet and terrified and sad and dead, and the younger man asked why, why he was dead, why Mike didn't save him, why he hadn't done more. The other men of their shift appeared, all taunting Mike and blaming him, asking the same questions Chet did, Cap and Marco and John and Roy all looking down at him like he was trash. Mike pleaded with them. Mike begged them to understand. He did try. This was not his fault. He loved Chet. He didn't want him to die. They all laughed. Failure, they called him, and traitor and helpless and useless, all the things he dreaded being. Mike was in a pool of blood, Chet's blood, far too much blood than a person could actually contain. It covered his arms, his chest, his abdomen, his legs, everything, all sticky and warm and cloying. His stomach rolled and churned. Bile lodged in his throat like he was about to throw up but couldn't. He needed to get the blood off. There was just so much blood…

xXxXx

Chet woke when Mike started shaking and whimpering in his sleep and tried his best to wake the other man from whatever nightmare was terrorizing him. Mike's hands were clenched into fists, his body almost in the fetal position. He jerked awake, nearly knocking Chet out of bed, and lurched to his feet, staggering into the bathroom. Chet waited for the sounds of him throwing up and was surprised to hear the shower come on instead. He eased himself out of bed, limping toward the bathroom and peering in. His heart gave an uncomfortable flop, his brows knitting in confusion and concern.

Mike stood in the shower, still in his underclothes, scrubbing forcefully at his arms and trunk. Quiet sounds of distress could be heard over the spray. Chet watched for a moment, frozen, half in confusion and half in fear, before finally stepping all the way into the bathroom and approaching his friend. He quietly called Mike's name, trying to get his attention. When that didn't work, he reached in and gripped him by the shoulder. The water was freezing. He could see Mike shivering as he tried to wash the invisible grime off his body. He reached over and shut off the cold spray, holding Mike by his biceps. He called his name again, a little louder this time and maybe sounding a bit more scared than before. Mike blinked at him, but his gaze was still bleary-looking. He struggled weakly against Chet's grip.

"N-No! No, turn it b-back on!" Mike stammered, "The-the blood-! I-I need to-to get the blood off!"

"What blood? Mike, there's no blood. No blood anywhere," Chet explained.

Mike shook his head fiercely, trying to pull away again. Chet tightened his hold. A low whine fell from Mike's lips, one that cut Chet through to the bone, sent a chill up his spine. _I think I know what happened… and I hope I'm wrong…_

"Lemme go… please, lemme go," Mike begged, "The blood-"

"No. C'mon, Mike, get outta there. You'll get sick- Stop that," he told him, keeping him from turning the shower on again, "Stop it. There's no blood, Mike."

"There is! It's everywhere! It's all over!"

He shivered violently, goosebumps visible up and down his arms. That chill went up Chet's spine once more.

"Mike," he asked quaveringly, "whose blood is it? Is it mine?"

Mike nodded in response, unable to speak. Chet's heart gave another unpleasant flop. Mike was staring blankly at the floor of the shower, and Chet imagined he was seeing blood running in rivulets down his legs and pooling at his feet and swirling toward the drain. He shuddered involuntarily.

"Look at me, pal… Hey… look at me," Chet ordered softly, taking his hand away from Mike's arm and taking his chin, forcing him to look up, "Look, I'm right here. I'm okay. There's no blood."

He waited for some form of recognition, for the fog of terror to clear from the other man's eyes. _Blood. He thought he was covered in blood. My blood._ Chet finally coaxed Mike out of the shower when some of the tension bled out of his muscles, his form slumping slightly. Chet's leg was throbbing painfully, but he tried to push it out of his mind. He aided Mike out of the tub and out of his wet underclothes, trying to be clinical about it. He helped him pull off his undershirt, peeling the soaked fabric off his torso, resting a hand on his shivering flank to steady him when it was off. A flush spread from Mike's chest up into his face. _Sorry, pal, wish we could more tough about this, but it has to be done._ He gave Mike's shorts a tug and let them fall to the floor. Chet couldn't exactly bend to do it himself, and he really didn't want to be any closer to Mike's genitals than he had to be.

Chet wrapped a towel around his shivering friend and carefully ushered him into the bedroom, gently pushing him down onto the bed so he would sit. Mike's movements were sluggish, like he was underwater, like he was still dreaming. Something clenched in Chet's chest. He went to Mike's bag and rummaged for a clean pair of shorts, wondering if perhaps Mike was still somehow trapped in his own head.

He finally located the shorts and limped back to Mike, holding them out to him and saying, "Here ya go, put these on. They're nice and dry, and I don't think you want me helpin' out."

A teasing note slipped into his voice, half-hearted though it was. Mike took a moment to move, blinking at Chet a few times before accepting the proffered garment. Chet sat on the bed with a quiet groan; his leg throbbed painfully. He kneaded the aching muscle of his thigh and winced slightly, pointedly ignoring Mike slipping off the towel and pulling on the boxers. Mike settled back, still shivering.

"Here… put that towel back around ya. You're gonna freeze to death, remember?"

Chet picked up the towel and replaced it around Mike's shoulders, rubbing his arms to warm him up faster. _Maybe it'll help wake him up, too._ He pulled the blankets up over Mike's legs and settled his hands on his shoulders. Water still dripped from Mike's hair, rolling over the contours of his face. His eyes still had a faraway look in them.

"Tell me what happened, Mike," Chet said quietly, "You can tell me."

Mike's lip trembled, and he shook his head. Chet rubbed his arms again, telling him, "Yes… Yes, you can talk to me. You-… you had a nightmare, that's all. Just a nightmare. C'mon, tell me what happened."

"He killed you," Mike whimpered, "There wa-was blood everywhere, so much b-blood. I-I tried to stop it but I couldn't and you-you d-died. There was just nothing I could do an-an-and everyone blames me for it. They all said it-it's my fault you're dead."

"Hey, it's okay, Mike," Chet soothed, seeing how upset his friend truly was, still fighting off this nightmare, "C'mon, man, it's okay. I'm right here. I'm alive, see? I'm not dead. I'm right here. I'm alive, and look-… see, there's no blood. Not on me, and not on you. Nothing. We're both okay."

His words weren't working as well as he'd hoped. Mike remained faraway, there but not wholly, his nightmare ongoing. _Is he seeing me as a ghost? Does he believe I'm dead right now, a hallucination sent to haunt him for his failure?_ Chet took one of Mike's hands and brought it to rest on his neck, right as his pulse point, saying, "There, see? I'm alive, Mike. Feel that? I'm okay. I'm alive. I promise."

The calloused pads of his fingers were rough against Chet's skin, shifting slightly over his beating pulse. _He's got honest hands, Mom woulda said. Working hands. He's an honest, working man, a good man. He doesn't deserve this._ He watched Mike's features change, saw him return from his nightmare realm, the fog lifting from his eyes. His breathing eased, and he settled back against the wall, exhaustion clear in his face. His fingers twitched against Chet's neck.

"Go back to sleep, Mike," Chet whispered, "I'll be right here all night, and I'll be here when you wake up. Just go to sleep."

He nestled in beside him against the wall and carded his fingers through the older man's hair briefly, hoping to comfort him as he drifted off. _Just sleep now… There's no blood on your hands… not now and not ever…_

Mike's fingers remained against Chet's pulse until they woke in the morning.


	9. The Winds of Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in posting this one. Between finishing up my thesis and going on vacation, I haven't had the time for posting. I've tried my best here to look at trial procedures but I went with a preliminary hearing kind of based on Perry Mason, which I do watch a fair bit of. It fit my timeline better than a regular trial.
> 
> Also points to anyone who spots my references to pop culture here. I worked them in with the intention of y'all knowing what they're from but not with the intention of having the characters quote pop culture that wasn't out yet.

The dark emotions and nightmares surrounding the Event finally ceded to normal levels after Chet returned to work and Pfeffer's preliminary hearing started, though they flared up whenever Mike and Chet had to repeat their testimony over and over for attorneys and judges and detectives. Charlie showed up to the hearing when she could, and it was like watching a Perry Mason episode unfold right in front of her… only less believable. _People would call you crazy if you tried to put this on TV. It's just too ridiculous._

The public defender was trying to stall the proceedings, still attempting to convince the defendant that he should agree to put in a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity. Pfeffer, apparently, was refusing, wanting to actually plead guilty and explain why he did what he did (which may in fact have qualified as insanity). The defender managed to get Pfeffer to hold off on it for a little while, holding out hope he could convince him to plead otherwise.

On the witness stand, Chet seemed no different than usual: confident, maybe a little cocky, bordering on smirking. His mouth wasn't even getting him into trouble like it usually did. Charlie supposed that's why she was feeling so nervous now. She'd been fine during Angie's testimony (she also was very confident, vocal about her feelings, and was told to keep to facts more than once including being threatened with contempt), but now… _My stomach is just in awful knots._ Mike sat between Charlie and Angie, his rough hands squeezing each of theirs.

Thankfully, Charlie was no longer truly shocked at hearing what happened to her brother and her more-than-friend. She listened to the testimony with a straight face but a comforting one, trying not to be betray the fact that it still upset her a bit to hear about the hurled slurs and the way he toyed with them before he would kill Chet. A quiet murmur rose from the gallery when Chet first said what they'd been called and what happened.

"And is it true, Mr. Kelly? What Mr. Pfeffer was saying about you?" the public defender asked.

"Is what true?"

"Are you and Mr. Stoker in a relationship?"

"It's strictly professional."

A series of giggles floated through the gallery, earning a brief glare from the public defender. He continued, "Mr. Pfeffer claims you stated the two of you were involved romantically."

"Well, I'm afraid Mr. Pfeffer jumped to conclusions based on incomplete information."

"Do you have any idea why he might have jumped to such a conclusion, Mr. Kelly?"

Chet shrugged, "Mike dates my sister, so sometimes he would stay at our place, mine and my sister's, I mean. Umm… and Mike was kinda upset when got to his apartment, so I was just sayin' goofy stuff to cheer him up. It was finding Pfeffer's car burned out on our previous shift that upset him, really."

"You both knew it was his car?"

"Yessir, it was a '62 Ford Galaxie, two-door hardtop, green, with primer on the hood and front driver's-side fender. Mike saw a car fitting that description following him a few times in the days leading up to the attack."

"Mr. Kelly, the car was burned out. Surely you couldn't make out the color and presence of primer?"

"Well, seein' as how it wasn't completely burned out and that I've been a fireman since '69, yeah, I think I can," Chet replied smugly.

There was another round of tittering laughter. The defender cleared his throat, speaking over the chuckling, "Please, Mr. Kelly, why don't you tell me how you think Mr. Pfeffer came to believe you and Mr. Stoker were in a relationship?"

"We left my apartment around sundown. Like I said, Mike was kinda worked up about everything, so we sat in my van for a bit so he could kinda chill out. Then, we went up to his apartment. I was tryin' to cheer him up a little, make him feel like it was just another day, so I made a crack about us sharing a bed. I'm always crackin' jokes like that, and it seemed to work, to-to cheer him up."

"Mr. Pfeffer claims you called Mr. Stoker 'babe' as you entered the apartment."

"Probably did… but I call everyone that. You can ask anyone at the station."

"You didn't deny his accusations, though. In fact, according to him, you encouraged them."

"I think anyone would with a .38 leveled at their face," Chet snarked, then straightened up a bit in his chair, continuing, "I was hoping I could play for time by agreeing to whatever he said. See, I did some combat training while I was in the Army, and I do remember most of it. I was pretty sure if Pfeffer would let his guard down, I'd be able to disarm him."

"What if he'd shot you?"

"He did shoot me. Right through the outer thigh."

"I mean, what if he'd fatally shot you, Mr. Kelly?"

"Then I'd be dead… but maybe Mike wouldn't be."

Mike squeezed Charlie's hand, and she squeezed back. The gallery's noise muted to a low murmur.

"Is that-… Are you telling us that you were willing to die if it meant even the slimmest chance Mr. Stoker might live?"

The gallery was so unnaturally silent no one even seemed to be breathing. The stenographer had stopped typing. Every eye was focused on Chet, who was staring down the defender with determination and satisfaction, sitting straight-backed and proud there on the stand in correlation to his stately expression. The sight made Charlie sit a little taller herself, and she felt Mike draw himself up beside her. Even Pfeffer was on the edge of his seat it seemed, just waiting for Chet's next words. A smirk was beginning to play on his lips, his moustache quirking up ever so slightly. Anticipation lay thick over the room, and Charlie knew he was milking it for all it was worth.

When Chet finally spoke, his tone was calm and almost quiet, so unlike his usual self.

" 'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.' John 15:13, if you need to look it up. See, I put my life on the line for others every time I go to work, every time I go out on that engine. I went with Mike to his apartment because all of us at the station were worried about him bein' alone. If I hadn't been there, maybe Mike would be dead. Maybe my sister would be dead, or someone else I care about. I'm in the business of savin' lives here, pal, and I'll be damned if I let someone hurt my friends and family without tryin' to stop it."

Pride swelled in Charlie's chest. _That's it. That's my big brother. You tell 'em, Chester B._ Mike went up not longer after, the two key witnesses going back to back in the preliminary hearing. Chet sat beside Charlie, and Charlie squeezed her big brother's hand while he whispered to her, "It'll be alright, sis. He'll be fine."

The prosecutor stepped up for her line of questioning first, heels clicking slightly against the floor, echoing quietly throughout the silent courtroom.

"You once worked with the defendant, did you not, Mr. Stoker?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, I did. We both worked at Los Angeles County Fire Department Station 69 out of Topanga Canyon. He was our engineer, and as such, it was in his duties to drive the engine and monitor the water pumps, as well as act as a sort of second-in-command for the shift. An engineer should be responsible for the safety of his shiftmates as much as the captain."

"And it was inability to comply with these duties that led to you being involved in a disciplinary matter with the defendant, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, it was."

"Would you please elaborate on those circumstances, Mr. Stoker?"

"Well, when Pfeffer started at 69s, everything was alright," Mike explained, "Fred Llewellyn, our engineer before that and a good friend of mine, was promoted to captain, so Pfeffer was his replacement. We all got along pretty well at first, for about the first six months or so, but then it all went downhill. He became rude and difficult to live with at the station, though he still performed his assigned duties well. It was around this time that he also began making disparaging remarks about his family."

"What sorts of remarks did he make?" the prosecutor asked.

"Objection, Your Honor, that happened over ten years ago and has no bearing on this present case."

"You Honor, this relates to the mindset of the defendant and looks to show this court the type of person we're dealing with here."

"I'll allow this line of questioning. Objection overruled. The witness will answer the question."

"Uh, well, his son was born with, uh, with Down Syndrome, and he usually didn't refer to him by name. He usually just called him 'the retard,'" Mike answered, flushing pink, "He wasn't very complimentary about his wife, either. She had to take more time caring for the child as a result of his disability, and he said-… I dunno if I can repeat what he said about her."

"Please try, Mr. Stoker. What sorts of things did say about his wife?"

Charlie felt bad for Mike. He looked visibly uncomfortable at being asked to repeat such words when he would never think of saying them to anyone himself. He took a deep breath and looked at his lap, saying, "He-he said she was a frigid bitch because she wouldn't have sex with him whenever he wanted, like when he got off work, and he called her a lazy whore and-and-… something that starts with the letter 'c' I'd really rather not repeat. I remember, too, he said he blamed her for their son being born the way he was, said he would tell her that to her face, and that he-he wished the kid would die so they could get on with their lives."

"That's bullshit!" Pfeffer burst out, "I never said that! I never said any of that!"

Mike shot back before he could be stopped, "You did! You said it right to our faces and called us a buncha pussies when no one laughed!"

A few bangs of the gavel brought the proceedings back to order. The color in Mike's face was no longer nervousness, it seemed, but a righteous anger, shown in the way he sat taller in the stand. _Oh, they're gonna hear it now, and it's gonna be a show. The quiet ones are always the ones with the most to say. I only wish I had some popcorn._ A low murmur hummed through the room.

"The first time I reported him to our captain was when I caught him behind the station receiving oral sex from a woman who wasn't his wife," Mike went on, more determined now, "People drop by a fire station unexpectedly all the time: chiefs, other firemen, firemen's families, interested citizens, little groups of kids. If he were caught by someone else, by one of those people, he could've done a lot of damage not only to his own reputation but that of the whole fire department. The captain suspended him and put a written reprimand in his file, but he was given another chance."

"Is that what you wanted?"

"I was just a lineman. What I wanted didn't really matter… but yes. I think he deserved a second chance. He was havin' a rough time of it, havin' to adjust to a new baby and that child needing more care than normal. We were all more than willing to help him out, but he seemed to think otherwise, thought we were all out to get him fired instead… and he blew his second chance. He just pushed us all away and turned to drugs and alcohol."

"You know that for a fact, Mr. Stoker?"

"Yes, ma'am. A few months following the first incident I saw him in the locker room swallowing a couple pills and drinking from a flask. Once again, I reported him to the captain, and it was determined that the pills were painkillers and the liquid in the flask was scotch. By doing that, he put not only his own life in danger but the lives of the other men on his shift and civilians. Honestly, I felt that was unforgivable. It's our job to protect people, not put them in danger."

The prosecutor paused, expertly letting the last statement sink in with the gallery and judge. She once again had Mike recount what happened in his apartment.

"What about the assertions made by the defendant that your and Mr. Kelly's relationship is romantic?"

"They are incorrect. Chet and I are not, nor have we ever been, involved romantically. He's a good friend, though… probably one of the best I've ever had."

Chet squeezed Charlie's hand a little tighter, and Charlie smiled. There were a few more questions for Mike, like why he beat Pfeffer's face in ("He'd just shot and pistol-whipped my friend,") and why he didn't call the police himself ("I was kinda preoccupied with tryin' to keep Chet's blood inside him,") but it was over fairly quickly. The defender was sweating nervously in his chair.

The preliminary hearing ended with a bang. In a twist worthy of Perry Mason, Pfeffer fired his public defender, announced he was defending himself, and immediately pled guilty to all charges. There was another hearing where Pfeffer pled guilty, and the judge made the determination he understood the rights he was giving up in doing so. Shortly after that, they scheduled a sentencing hearing.

"How long you think they'll lock him up for?" Chet asked the night before the sentencing hearing as they ate Chinese takeout, "Gotta be pretty long right?"

"Probably," Charlie shrugged, "I mean, he got… what? Two counts of attempted murder, two counts assault with a deadly weapon, grand theft auto, breaking and entering… that's gotta add up to a long time."

"As long as they don't say he was insane or some shit like that and send him to some psych facility for treatment," Mike spoke up, "He's not crazy. That bastard knew what he was doing. He said so, remember?"

The two Kellys hummed in agreement, mirroring each other as they each took another bite of food, causing Mike to snort. _It's good to hear him laugh again._ Charlie took great pleasure in deliberately making Mike laugh, and if she could do it at a vaguely inappropriate time, that was even better. It was the same game she'd played with Chet when they were younger. He was usually the perpetrator, making her squeal with giggles like only a little girl could, but she'd gotten him a few times. She had the best timing, too, usually getting him while they were supposed to be sitting quietly and respectfully in Mass, most notably when she told Chet the visiting priest had a 'chin like a buttcrack.' It was pretty funny to her at nine, and the comment made Chet snort so loud he had to excuse himself to go laugh in the bathroom. Charlie got spanked for that one when they got home, and Chet was grounded for a few days, but it had absolutely been worth it. Doing it to Mike was almost more fun because he reacted so much better.

Mike moved out of his apartment shortly after the Event, telling Charlie he couldn't stay there any longer, not with all the bad memories of that day. He put everything he had in a storage locker and moved in with the Kellys. Charlie had no complaints, of course. She loved Mike and was more than happy to have him living with them, though it sparked plenty of questions for them to finally confront.

"Hey, Charlie, I-… what are we, anyway? Like, to each other, I mean. What's..." Mike asked while they were lounging at the beach one day, gesturing between them, "what's this?"

Charlie said nothing at first, merely cocking her head slightly and looking out over the ocean. It was nice out, not quite warm enough for swimming but warm enough to enjoy sitting on the beach. She looked around at the other couples lingering there on the sand, grateful for being able to hide behind a pair of sunglasses.

"So… you want a label for what this is?"

"It's not that, really, it's just-"

"Yes it is. It's alright. Only natural, I guess. People like to have neat little boxes for everything to fit in with neat, easy-to-read labels," she replied, "Sometimes for themselves, mostly to make other people comfortable."

"Where'd you learn that psychobabble?"

"From a book. Where else?"

Mike chuckled quietly beside her. Charlie spoke up, "Who's been asking questions?"

"Mother. Who else?" he replied, "She's got her two eldest married off and got her grandkids already, but I guess she's still just holding out hope for me… and she likes you."

"Oh? And what about you, Mike?"

"Well, I like you, too, Charlie. I like you very much."

Mike smiled and leaned in to kiss her, pressing his lips to hers briefly.

"Hmm, I can tell, though I think marriage is a little premature at this point."

She was pleased when he didn't look hurt by the comment. He told her, "Oh, I wasn't thinking about marriage, not yet anyway, but Mother certainly is. I just want something more finite to tell her, something she can understand easily."

"Why not just tell her we're… boyfriend and girlfriend then? It's a bit less wordy than saying we're in a romantic yet sexless relationship, wouldn't you say?" she quipped.

"Yeah, that would be a mouthful. Is that what we are then? Boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"I guess so. I mean, what else is there? I don't think there are enough people like us out there to have a word for what this is. We're just gonna have to work in other parameters for now."

Mike gave a little hum of agreement beside her but said nothing for a moment until, "Have you ever thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

"Getting married. Ever thought about it?"

She shrugged, saying, "Not really. I mean, I was raised Catholic, remember? Marriage was all about making plenty of little Catholics for the Church, which I wasn't really interested in. That was all I ever thought marriage was for, so I never really considered it. I suppose every little girl dreams about her wedding, of course, dreams of the white gown and flowers and Prince Charming."

"So… so you've imagined a wedding but not marriage?"

"Yup."

He laughed quietly, pulling her in close to his side, and she laughed, too.

"Huh… so you wanted to marry Prince Charming?"

"Every little girl does… but I don't anymore."

"What changed?"

"Prince Charming is kinda gross, actually. Kissing girls who are passed out and judging girls by their feet? That's pretty weird, right?"

"I never thought about it like that before… but yeah, that's pretty weird," he agreed.

"Exactly. I wouldn't mind a prince, of course, but I think I'd prefer kind and sincere to charming."

"What about princes who buy lunch for pretty girls?"

"If they're sincere about it."

"Trust me, I am very sincere… and so is my stomach. I'm starving."

They packed up their blanket and headed back to Mike's truck. Charlie jumped up for a piggyback ride, wrapping her arms around his neck, and Mike let out a bark of laughter as he dutifully carried her to the old D100. _Boyfriend may not be the perfect word, but it's a good start._ He gently dropped her onto the bench seat and turned to kiss her. _It's a damn good start._ Mike brought his hand up to cup her cheek, his rough thumb stroking along her cheekbone. His eyes and expression were soft and warm.

"I love you, Charlie," he whispered, "I really do."

"I know. I love you, too."

His blue eyes sparkled, and Charlie knew it wasn't just sunlight causing it. She grinned and tugged him down for another quick kiss.

"Alright, mister, get in the driver's seat. I need a hamburger."

Mike smirked, "As you wish, princess."


	10. In the Light You Will Find the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been following this story from the beginning. Folks have just been so supportive and wonderful, and I've just had a wonderful time with this fic. I certainly hope to write some more of Charlie in the near future, and I do have some other projects in the works in this fandom. Again, thanks so much to everyone who's been so supportive of this work, who's followed it from the start, who's offered good concrit and ways to genuinely improve.
> 
> Warnings: some strong language, mentioned infidelity, enough fluff to comprise a tribble colony

Mike unlocked the door to his apartment, skillfully juggling his keys and a box of donuts. He still smiled every time he walked through the door, casting his eyes around to the furniture and the TV and the curtains. Depositing the donuts on the kitchen counter, he toed off his shoes by the door and went into the bedroom, where he stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed. He draped an arm over the small, warm lump under the covers. The young woman shifted slightly, and Mike's lips found the back of her neck and a bare shoulder. She made a soft noise and rolled over to face him, snuffling against her mop of dark curls.

"Charlie… Charlie, wake up," Mike whispered, "I've got three words I know you wanna hear."

Blue eyes blinked blearily up at him, a sleepy grin on Charlie's face. Mike leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips.

"Hmm… three words?"

"Brought home donuts."

She laughed quietly, saying, "You're right, I did wanna hear that. Makes my whole morning."

"Seein' me wasn't enough?"

"It was a good start, but the news of donuts made it."

"Oh, well, if I don't matter then maybe I should go."

Mike pulled away half-heartedly, allowing Charlie to easily pull him back in, snuggling up against his bare chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his nose into her hair and breathing deep, and slid his hands up under her shirt, his broad palms flat against the smooth skin of her back. She hummed appreciatively.

After everything that happened, Mike and Charlie only grew closer, their relationship getting stronger. Mike moved out of his apartment over the course of the trial and moved in with Chet and Charlie, putting whatever wouldn't fit in that apartment with their stuff into storage. Pfeffer was eventually sentenced to consecutive terms that would surely keep him locked away for the rest of his life. He had no family that still cared for him or any friends, and so Mike had no fear of anyone taking revenge on him again. Knowing he was safe, Mike finally felt ready to move on… particularly with Charlie.

The two of them moved into an apartment of their own, in the same complex as Chet though a different building, and Mike was never happier. The two of them enjoyed nothing more than being in one another's company, in being close, in being near each other. They had a one-bedroom with a pullout couch in the living room in case of visitors like Johnny or little DeSotos or the Lopez children.

Susan Stoker was delighted at her son moving in with Charlie, apparently seeing it as a first step toward marriage. She dropped little hints around the two of them about nice places for ceremonies and receptions and the prettiest flowers.

"You know, Edgar and I weren't quite twenty when we were married," Mrs. Stoker told them, "Now, Charlotte, you're almost twenty-four, and Michael, you're thirty-four. You're both losing time."

They tended to just let her go on whenever she got like that. Mike liked to think he and Charlie were modern adults, were hip with the times. Marriage just wasn't a necessity. Mike brought it up once or twice in terms of benefits, but she had her own working through dispatch, and Chet helped her out, too. They just didn't need marriage yet, and honestly, not being married helped avoid certain questions.

"Look, if we get married, then people are gonna start askin' when we're gonna start our family," Charlie pointed out one afternoon, "They're all gonna be waiting for us to announce some little Stokers."

Mike gave a little shudder, replying, "Yeah, I hadn't thought of that. I wouldn't even know what to say if someone asked."

"I just planned on saying we're not interested in having kids."

"What would people say to that?"

"Who cares?" Charlie shrugged, "Some people'll feel sorry for us and some'll think we're selfish, but who really cares? I sure won't care what they think, not when we'll be rolling around in disposable income. Plus, we can spoil our nieces and nephews, the DeSoto kids, the Lopez kids, the Stanley girls… it'll be great. Now if other people wanna say somethin' about it, they can go play in traffic."

So they just cohabitated for the time being. They bought common furniture and appliances. They got two cats, a brother and sister Charlie decided to name Merry and Pippin, and so Mike got used to having little brown and grey and white hairs all over him. They had dinner and breakfast together and lunch if they were lucky and slept in the same bed and cuddled up together. Mike was really quite sure he'd never been happier.

A chorus of meows sounded from the kitchen, and Charlie snorted quietly.

"You feed Merry and Pippin yet, Mike?"

"Nope, I came right in here to you."

"Good, I won't feed those fatties second breakfast, but I need to give them one soon before they wake the whole building with their lamentations. C'mon, lemme up, ya big lug…"

He did so, letting her get out of bed and following her lead, stopping to pull on a t-shirt. The cats were happily eating when he entered the kitchen, Charlie aimlessly petting them while they ate. Mike stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on the top of her head. Quiet laughter shook through her small frame.

"I'm glad I'm here for you to use as a chin rest," she quipped.

"So am I. I don't know what I would do without you, Charlie."

"I guess your chin would just droop and droop until it hit the floor and you were all hunched over."

He hummed in agreement and asked, "Want me to make the coffee?"

"Certainly."

Mike dropped a kiss to the top of her head and stepped away to get the coffee started, scratching Pippin's head as he did so, earning a flick of his bushy tail and happy chirp.

"Oh, remember, Charlie," Mike piped up, "Mother's hosting that New Year's party tonight at the house."

"Yes, I remember. I didn't buy that new dress the other day for nothin'."

"Well, you still gonna fit in it after all them donuts?" he asked jokingly, earning himself a glare.

To emphasize the glare, Charlie shoved almost half a donut into her mouth and grabbed another. Mike laughed. _That's my very lady-like lady._ Others in his parents' social circle were certainly beginning to wonder if and when Mike and Charlie were ever going to tie the knot. She'd attended a number of functions with him as his date, but this was the party to be seen at. Anyone with money who was anyone with enough money attended this party. Mike usually managed to avoid it thanks to work, but this time he had no such luck. _Charlie's excited, though, so I guess I should be, too._ She always liked dressing up and seeing the big houses and the fancy clothes.

Mike thought perhaps that was related to her reasoning for not wanting to get married. It's the bride's family that was supposed to pay for the wedding, but Charlie only had Chet. Both their parents were dead, plus a brother, and their eldest brother, while he was financially well-off, was estranged from them. The kind of wedding Mike's mother expected would cost a great deal of money, money she and Chet didn't have. Mike had no doubt his parents would happily pay for a wedding should it occur, but for now, he was content to simply live with Charlie and see her every day. That was more than enough for him.

They both looked up when they heard a knock at the door, and Charlie made her way over to answer it.

"Ah, look what the cats dragged in," she quipped.

"Ha ha," Chet replied, leaning against the doorframe, "You gonna let me in or should I make myself comfortable out here?"

"Ooh, someone's cranky," she said, stepping aside.

"I'm not cranky."

"Sure doesn't sound like it."

Chet stuck his tongue out at her.

"Yeah, you were pretty cheerful when we all left the station, Chet," Mike spoke up, "Thought you had a hot date or somethin' like that… some chick named Bonnie…"

Chet coughed into his hand, turning a little pink, and said, "Well… Bonnie neglected to tell me something very important about herself and decided to let it all out in one fell swoop this morning. Apparently, Miss Bonnie Carlisle is actually Mrs. Bonnie Zydlycki."

Mike felt his eyes go and saw Charlie's do the same.

"Uh huh, yeah, she's married. Took off her ring to pick up guys, I guess, and I'm the schmuck that fell for it. Now, I'm kind of a scumbag, I'll admit that, but I'm not that big of a scumbag to mess around with someone I know is married."

"Well, you just said you didn't know," Charlie said.

"I didn't know! She lied to me! But I know now and I'm pissed off! I don't do that shit, Charlie! You know tha- Oh, I forgot the kicker: she broke it off with me because she was goin' with _another_ guy."

"Holy shit, you gotta be kidding," Mike replied, "Tell me you're kidding, Chet."

"I wish I was 'cause this is some soap opera shit goin' on, but I'm not," Chet stated, a smirk growing on his face, "But you know who else won't be kidding? Her husband when he files for divorce because she's cheatin' on him."

Both Mike and Charlie's jaws dropped, and Charlie burst into laughter a moment later, a loud cackle that made the cats jump. Mike said, "Oh, _Chet_ , you didn't…"

"Oh, _Mike_ , I did, and _damn_ it felt good. Great way to end the year," Chet responded proudly, "See, Bonnie's a red-alert, level eleven bitch. Not only was she cheatin' on her husband, but she was cheatin' on her Purple Heart recipient, Bronze Star recipient, crippled, Army hero husband."

"Wow, what a c-"

"-crazy bitch… to do something like that," Mike cut Charlie off quickly.

"So what you're saying is you called this guy, told him you banged his wife, and he doesn't wanna rip your lungs out?" Charlie asked, "Ballsy move, Chet, I gotta hand it to ya."

"Well, the name Zydlycki ain't too common, and it just so happens me and this guy served together for about a year or so at Leonard Wood. I figured it was my duty to tell him what was goin' on with his wife. Brad was actually extremely appreciative. I believe he's on the phone with a good lawyer right about now."

"Oh, Chet, that is brutal. I've never been more proud."

"Thanks, sis. I'm pretty impressed myself to be honest. 'Course now I got no plans for New Year's… but I don't want you guys feelin' sorry for me! I know you've had plans for a while, and I don't want you missin' out on that party."

"I could call Mother, see if you could come with us to the party…"

"Nah, I don't have anything fancy enough for that shindig. Besides, I'd only be a third wheel for you guys."

"Well, what about Marco?" Mike suggested, "Doesn't his family have big party or somethin'? I'm sure you'd be welcome there if you asked and explained what happened."

"Yeah, that's a good idea… Can I use the phone?"

Chet left not too long after that, but not before swiping a few donuts, his mood greatly improved by his invite to the Lopez family New Year's party.

"That Lopez party sounds pretty fun," Charlie commented, "Maybe we should go there instead."

"But you got that new dress, and besides, Mother made me, like, triple swear we'd be there."

"A triple swear, huh?"

"Oh, yes. I'm pretty sure it's an unbreakable vow," Mike replied seriously.

Charlie snorted, returning to her coffee. Mike smirked, asking, "Well, we've got time 'til we have to get ready for the party. What'd you wanna do today?"

"Just be lazy and lay around, I think. Sound good?"

"Sounds great. We had a run about three, so I could use some sleep."

He wrapped his arms around her, nearly lifting her off the floor. They spent the whole rest of the morning and early afternoon just cuddled together in bed before they actually had to get up and get ready. Mike wore his good suit: black trousers and jacket with a powder blue shirt and navy blue tie. Charlie had a floor-length gown in a rich blue satin, with a deep V and a halter. She wore her hair loose with a large, glimmering barrette clipped in for added show.

"Beautiful," he told her softly, "Charlie, you look so beautiful."

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she replied, "And to think, I'm all yours."

_Yes… and I'm yours… I'll be yours forever if only you ask._ They didn't stray from each other's side the whole night, Charlie's arm looped daintily through Mike's.

"Mike! Charlie!" a familiar voice called, "Oh, it's so good to see you again!"

"Clarissa, it's good to see you, too," Mike replied, "How've you been? And you, Matt?"

"Oh, we're fine," Matt said, "Never been better, matter of fact."

"You're lookin' pretty good yourself there, Mike," Clarissa spoke up, "You just look so happy. You, too, Charlie."

"Well, hopefully I'm not just speaking for myself, but I'm very happy," Mike smiled.

"Gosh, you're both so precious! Might there be, ah, wedding bells in the near future, Mike?"

"Not yet," he replied, "Things work out pretty well the way they are now, so we're pretty happy like this."

"You said 'not yet,' darling, which implies it's still a possibility."

"We never said it wasn't," Charlie piped up, "just that it wouldn't be anytime soon… and please don't say anything to Sue- erm, Mrs. Stoker."

"Why not, Charlie?"

Charlie's blue eyes tipped down as a flush crept up into her cheeks, and she answered, "Well… uh, we just don't have enough money for something like that, me and Chet. He's my only family, after all, and it's the bride's family who's supposed to pay for the wedding. The two of us don't have money for that sort of thing… a big wedding, I mean."

Strangely, Clarissa smiled. The older woman stepped in closer and, in a tone bordering on conspiratorial, whispered, "Just remember this, Charlie and Mike, my darlings…whether a wedding happens in a church or in the Ritz or at the courthouse, you're just as married after one as any other. It's the vows that really matter, not the size of the party."

She gave them a wink and stepped back with, "Matt, sweetheart, we haven't spoken to the Morrisons yet. You know how they'll get if we skip talking to them. Hearing them complain about it for another three months will be worse than actually speaking to them now. Anyway, we'll see you two around. Party's only so big, after all."

Charlie's eyes were wide as she watched them go, almost comically so. Mike gave her a little nudge, and she turned those wide eyes on him.

"Y'know, they'll fall out if you don't keep 'em in check," he quipped.

She blinked, "What?"

"Your eyes. I think they're gonna fall out if you keep 'em so wide open like that."

"Oh, shut up. That-…what Clarissa said… that was pretty damn smart."

Mike's stomach gave a strange little flop. He cleared his throat and asked, "Do you wanna dance, Charlie? It looks like the floor cleared a little."

"Sure, I'd like that."

The thoughts sent swirling by Clarissa's comments were set at ease by the simple movements of their dancing, easy spins and twirls set to soft music they could focus on instead. Charlie gazed up at him with love, her eyes sparkling joyfully; Mike knew his matched. He was still amazed every day when she kissed him or told him she loved him or even just sat by him on their couch. He couldn't believe someone so strong and so beautiful and so amazing loved him so much, though she reminded him every day, in myriad little ways. _I hope she knows how much I love her. God, it's more than what I can express in words._ He pulled her in a little closer, reveling in her quiet giggle, in the way her small hand squeezed his.

As midnight approached, Charlie suggested they go out to the garden.

"I just want a little fresh air, some open sky. I'm gettin' a little hot in here."

He walked with her to a small bench under a handsome old oak tree, sitting together under the naked branches. Stars glimmered weakly overhead, dimmed by city lights and barely visible. Mike wrapped an arm around Charlie's shoulders and pulled her close to his side. She easily leaned into him.

"It's gonna be a whole new year soon, Mike."

"Yup. 1976. It's hard to believe we made it to another year… especially after this one."

"A new year… new beginnings."

"Still thinkin' about what Clarissa said?"

"Yeah," Charlie admitted, "I mean, it made a lot of sense. What would we need a big ol' church wedding for anyway? We don't have that many friends or family. We're not really religious or fancy or-or extravagant. The only reason I was thinkin' it would be so expensive was because I was thinkin' of the kind of wedding Sue would want."

"Alright, well, don't go making any decisions right now. There's a whole year ahead of us, remember?"

"Quite right. A big, new, exciting year."

"Hopefully not exciting like this one was."

"Oh, I dunno, Mike. This year wasn't all bad. Some parts were pretty damn great."

Charlie smiled up at him, and he obediently leaned in for a kiss, pressing his lips to hers. She looked so lovely in the soft glow of the light from the house, so radiant…

"So beautiful," he murmured, bringing his other hand up to her cheek, his thumb stroking her soft skin.

Color flooded her cheeks, and Mike leaned in, pressing gentle kisses to her cheeks, her nose, her lips. He told her quietly, "You are. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, beautiful inside and out, and I love you. I love you more than anything, Charlotte Rose."

The smile that lit up her face was true and somewhat shy as she replied, "Why, Michael James… I love you, too. I love you more than you'll ever know."

A cheer went up inside the house. _Must be midnight_. Mike turned to look at Charlie, who quickly swept in for a kiss. He held her close, moving his lips slowly against hers. Her perfume filled his nose, a scent fresh and floral that fit right in with the few garden flowers left over the winter. Two small hands cupped his face and made him smile, laughing into the kiss. Charlie pulled away after a moment, flushed and breathless and oh so lovely, saying, "Happy New Year, Mike."

"Happy New Year, Charlie."

_A happy New Year… yes… I'm sure it will be a very happy new year…_

He leaned in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The D100 is possibly the ugliest truck I have ever seen but I still kinda like it for some reason.
> 
> Edit: Thanks to LACoFD143 on ff.net for giving me some info. Didn't know 'friends with benefits' wasn't a thing, so that has been fixed.


End file.
